Oikia
by One Fine Wire
Summary: "The understanding is still there." Companion story to 'Orphanos'.
1. Giagia

**Oikia**

* * *

**Chapter I: Giagia**

**I**

Helga Pataki and I are exactly alike, in the sense that when we love a certain someone, we show them through ridicule. Even after all these years, I still get a laugh out of the endless ways I tormented Phil when we were younger – tacks on his chair, calling him "Chin Boy," making fun of his batting stance, tying him to ant hills, getting him in trouble during class, spilling ink on his head… my torment of Phil started long before I fell for him. During my schooldays, I was well renowned among our classmates for my pranks and causing all sorts of trouble without ever getting into it. I targeted everyone in my class, but my favorite target was Phil because it was so easy to push his buttons and get under his skin. I had no idea it would make him so mad to be called "Chin Boy," but seeing him riled up over a nickname made me laugh, and so I continued doing it.

Though I was always known for my endless tricks on people, which always made everyone laugh, Phil was still the most popular kid in our grade. I didn't understand it. He was funny looking, and almost always had the wrong answers whenever the teacher called on him.

Regardless, everyone liked him, and I did too, even though I didn't want to admit it.

**II**

_At the beginning of lunch, Gertie opened her schoolbag, her stomach growling, only to realize that she'd forgotten to bring her lunch to school with her. Home was a long way away from the schoolhouse, and both her parents were working the obscure, odd jobs they could during the days of the Depression, so they wouldn't be home to let her in._

_Gertie sighed, her stomach rumbling loudly, and sat down at the far end of the table where the rest of her classmates were eating lunch. She didn't want them to see that she didn't have any food with her._

_The half hour lunch period that went by so fast now felt like the longest day in the world._

"_Gertie?"_

"_What?" she snapped._

"_Do you have a lunch?"_

_She looked up. It was Phil, holding his sack lunch in his right hand. "You can have mine," he said, holding it out to her. "I'm not hungry."_

_Gertie looked at the sack lunch and looked up at Phil, her eyes resting on the large scratch on his forehead; a few days ago, the two of them got into a little brawl on the playground, and Gertie scratched Phil in the process._

"_Go on, take it."_

_She reached out, took the sack lunch, and opened it. Inside was an apple, two pieces of bread, and a cookie._

"_Thank you."_

_As Phil walked away, Gertie noticed, for the first time, just how adorable he really was._

**III**

That was the moment I fell for Phil, and it wasn't just because he was cute, though I'll admit it was a factor. What amazed me more was the fact that he was still nice to others, still nice to me, even when they gave him the short end of the stick. I tormented him; yet, he made sure I didn't go hungry that day. Even though our classmates teased Phil whenever he didn't give the right answers in class, everyone still liked him because he was willing to lend a helping hand… and he had the best sense of humor. He still does.

Though I was mischievous growing up, I always give Arnold the impression that I was a sweet little girl during my schooldays, and I really was, deep down. Like Helga, I was confused, insecure, and scared of rejection.

I was also afraid of losing control. I didn't expect, or plan to fall for Phil that day. It just happened. Each day my feelings for him grew stronger, and I couldn't stop them. My head told me to stop, but my heart told me to go.

I tormented Phil because I didn't know _how_ to tell him my true feelings for him. I found my heart telling me to pursue Phil and it scared me, knowing that I was no longer in charge of my own heart. Phil probably would've scorned me in front of everyone, and teased _me_ mercilessly if he knew how I felt about him. After all, even though he was nice to me despite my ridicule of him, he only saw me as being one of the boys.

**IV**

_Walking home from school that day, Gertie felt remorseful. Today was supposed to be the day she was to tell Phil how she really felt about him. She had every intention of doing so. Instead, she poured ink in his hair and put tacks on his chair. During lunch, she watched sadly as Phil washed the black liquid from his dark brown locks._

_When she teased Phil, she was in control. This time, she found her heart telling her to apologize. She found her heart telling her to follow him home, to apologize to him, and she couldn't stop it._

_Gertie was losing control, and she hated it. She was always one to think with her head, not her heart. Because she thought with her head as opposed to her heart, she had control over it._

_But once it came into the picture, it only complicated her life and made her realize that she couldn't deny how she felt about Phil._

_Her heart also made her realize that she was no longer in charge._

_She knew apologizing was the right thing to do, and there was a part of her that wanted to, but she was too afraid of getting shot down if she did._

"_Phil!"_

_It was Joseph Stubbs, a classmate of Phil and Gertie's. He was short and fat, with black hair and several freckles on his face. He ran ahead of Gertie, not noticing her, but Gertie noticed him and couldn't help but laugh as she watched his tubby frame run haphazardly toward her true love._

"_Who do you think you'll ask to go with you to the Cheese Festival?" he inquired._

"_I don't know, Joseph," Phil said, as he walked with Joseph. "I haven't thought about it."_

_Gertie wanted to turn around and take the long way home, but instead, she found herself following the two of them stealthily. She began walking slower so she could hear every word._

"_Oh, Phil," she whispered, "Though I torment you… I would __**love **__to go to the Cheese Festival with you!"_

_Miles Taylor, a good friend of Phil, tall, gangly, with thick, light brown hair, joined him and Joseph, after they passed the sweet shop. "You guys don't know who you're taking to the Cheese Festival?" Miles asked, handing a lollypop to both Phil and Joseph. "I'm going with Anna O'Connell."_

"_I'm going with Sarah Wilson," Joseph replied, as he ate his lollypop in two bites. "Phil and I are trying to figure out who __**he **__should go with."_

"_Maybe you should ask Gertie," Miles suggested, "I think she likes you."_

_Phil laughed. "__**Me? **__Ask __**Gertie **__to the Cheese Festival! You're __**crazy, **__Miles! You've seen how Gertie teased me in class today – spilling ink in my hair and putting tacks on my chair. She doesn't like me, she __**hates **__me!"_

"_You never know, Phil," Miles laughed. "She could be teasing you to hide how she __**really **__feels."_

_Gertie, who now hid behind the hardware store, sighed as she watched the three of them walk together, Miles and Phil still licking their lollypops. "If only you knew how much I __**love **__you, Phil…"_

"_Oh, sure, Miles," Phil snapped. "I'm not asking Gertie to the Cheese Festival! And why would I ask her anyway, even if she __**wasn't **__mean to me? __**She's just one of the boys!**__"_

"_True," Joseph said. "It's too bad, because Gertie could be __**really pretty **__if she wanted to be."_

_Phil snickered, but Miles only shrugged. As the three of them walked back to Phil's house together, a small, solitary tear fell down Gertie's cheek._

**V**

It's my little secret: in the attic in the box right next to Miles and Stella's possessions, is another cardboard box. In that box, is yet another one – this one is made out of wood, smooth to the touch, small and heart-shaped. This box is painted a soft yellow color with sage green trimming, with light pink roses, surrounded by sage green leaves and miniature rosebuds surrounding it. The same, small, pink rosebuds with its greenery line the side of the box.

Everyday while Phil sleeps in and while Arnold's at school, I sneak up to the attic and take the box out and reminisce about my childhood – those years where my love for Phil began blossoming, as did my need to hide my feelings and keep command over my heart.

Inside are various mementos from my childhood, mostly consisting of old, black and white pictures of Phil haphazardly taped to pieces of colored paper, now also old, faded, and torn at the edges. Little pieces of dark wood scatter the inside of the box: these are pieces of Phil's old baseball bat I smashed to bits in a fit of jealousy after his team beat mine. It wasn't just jealousy that lead me to breaking his bat. I really did admire Phil's talent for the game.

Each time he hit the ball, I found my admiration for him increasing. I found myself smiling as he ran from base to base and back to home plate. I found myself dreaming of him helping me practice and standing behind me as he helped me nail the same batting stance I teased him about. I found myself loving him and more and more…

… And I found myself having less of a say in how I felt.

After the game ended, I found myself going up behind Phil, grabbing his bat, and smashing it on the ground.

I felt terrible for doing it. Seeing the look of shock on Phil's face made me feel like the worst person in the world.

When I finish sorting through the old photographs of Phil, I find them.

Covered in burgundy tulle, now falling apart and crumbling, are the dandelions I picked for Phil as an apology after I ruined his bat. He refused to take them, and I was heartbroken, though I refused to let him see my tears. I take the dandelions out of the tulle; the stems are broken in half, and the smell of the old flowers is pungent; but I cannot get rid of them or throw them away.

**VI**

_She picked the dandelions with care, only choosing the ones with the thickest thistles – the ones that are fun to blow away into the sky. After picking six of them and tying them together with an old, bright yellow ribbon, she walked to Phil's house and knocked on the door._

"_Is Phil home?" she asked, looking up into his father's eyes. The resemblance between the two of them was striking; both Phil and his father had the same bone structure, the same chin Gertie loved to poke fun at, even though she loved it, the same facial features, and the same, dark brown tresses. They both were thin, and Phil, though he was only ten years old, was already nearly taller than his father._

"_Yes, he's upstairs in his room. Come on in, Gertie."_

_She stood there, in the family room nervously as she waited for Phil to come down the stairs. When he did, he looked at Gertie, perplexed, then glared at her._

"_What do you want?"_

"_I wanted to apologize for breaking your baseball bat," she told him. "I picked some flowers for you." She held them out. "I'm sorry, Phil, and I want to tell you that I – "_

"_I don't want your stupid flowers!" Phil snarled, "You're not sorry! You're __**always **__teasing me and hurting my feelings!"_

"_Phil, I – "_

_He pointed at her and screamed,__**"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU, AND I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR UGLY FACE AGAIN!"**__He ran upstairs and slammed the door. Gertie still stood, rooted to the spot, Phil's words breaking her heart, little by little._

"_**PHILIP SHORTMAN!"**__his father roared, racing up the stairs, "THAT IS __**NOT **__THE WAY YOU TREAT A YOUNG LADY!"_

_She left Phil's house, the dandelions still clutched in her hand, her face stained with tears, her heart shattered, beyond repair, yet still controlling everything, still making her love Phil Shortman even though she knew he would never return it._

**VII**

After putting the dandelions, the bits from the broken bat, and the pictures of Phil, back into the heart shaped box, I put it away. I count my blessings, grateful that Phil found it in himself to forgive me for all the torment I filled his life with. Looking out the window, I notice Helga walking down the street. She stops in front of the boarding house, looks over at Arnold's window, and smiles dreamily before resuming her walk. I shake my head, knowing _too well_ that Helga loves my grandson even though she'll never admit it. I was the same way after all, though I never left around any pink notebooks or loony voicemails, went sleepwalking throughout his house, or released a pet parrot that spouted love poetry and let it get into Phil's possession. I'm proud to say I didn't leave any clues or evidence of my feelings for Phil around, but it has been fun, conversing with Helga during her impulsive visits to our house.

Contrary to what the boarders believe, my conversations with Eleanor Roosevelt aren't one-sided.

**VIII**

_The kitchen was clean, the living and family rooms were rearranged, and Gertie was ready to relax; every night before going to bed, she would pore over an old photo album from years gone by… school days, her and Phil's courtship, their marriage, their years together before having their son… it was the perfect way for her to unwind after a long day of looking after a house full of crazy boarders._

_Thank God for Arnold, who was the calm center of her universe. He inherited his father's calm, mellow disposition, and it was typically the one thing that kept her from losing it. It was ironic, since Gertie herself was so eccentric when it came to mixing up the holidays and putting on one-act performances, but there were times when she felt as though she was going to lose her mind in the boardinghouse._

_It was no surprise to her when she heard a loud thump and the breaking of dishes from the kitchen. Back when she and Phil were first married, there were frequent robberies. Though they waned in the later years and eventually stopped, Gertie was always prepared for such circumstances._

_When she walked into the kitchen, she found Helga Pataki in her pink pajamas, in front of the open refrigerator, stuffing her face. Gertie knew she stopped by in the early evening with a bouquet of flowers, presumably for Arnold, and that she had been clearly out of it when she did so; she was in the attic again, looking at her possessions inside the old, heart shaped box when it happened. Luckily, Helga came to her senses and left, while Phil told Arnold it had been an old, religious zealot trying to convert him._

_Gertie shook her head. "Here we go again," she thought to herself, "As if the parrot wasn't bad enough…"_

"_Why Eleanor! I'm so glad you finally came!" she exclaimed, guiding Helga away from the refrigerator and toward the kitchen table, where she sat her down. "You really should've called if you were going to come in at such a late hour, but it's a pleasure to have you!"_

_Gertie looked at Helga and sighed. How long was she going to keep this up?_

"_Let me show you to your room, Eleanor," Gertie said gently. She helped Helga up from her place at the kitchen table and led her to the first vacant room to the left of the kitchen. Gertie hoped that by keeping Helga on the first floor that she wouldn't attempt any escapades to get up to Arnold's room, even in her sleep. "I know this isn't the white house, Eleanor," Gertie said as she retried some extra blankets from the closet, but hopefully it'll do."_

_She made sure Helga was in bed before she left._

_The next morning, Gertie went to the kitchen to find Helga passed out on the kitchen table. She hoped she hadn't done anything reckless during the night._

"_Good morning, Eleanor," Gertie said as she began making breakfast, "I hope you slept well last night." She placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her and then went on to make the toast. She watched as Helga picked at her breakfast before passing out again._

"_Oh, Eleanor," Gertie said, laughing, "I can't tell you wonderful it is to see you again!"_

_When she placed the plate of toast onto the table rather loudly, Helga woke up and looked around, a look of horror creeping onto her face upon realizing where she was._

"_You being here reminds me of the days when we used to have brunch together!"_

_Helga wailed and jumped out the window, but not before grabbing her breakfast. Gertie sighed; dishes could always be replaced._

"_Grandma? Whom are you talking to?" Arnold asked as he entered the kitchen._

"_Oh, just Eleanor Roosevelt, Dear," Gertie said casually, "But she was called away on official White House business and jumped out the window."_

**IX**

"She can't keep up those charades forever," I say to myself, thinking of the other two instances where her sleepwalking led me to housing her again, resulting in her waking up in the shower and ending up on Arnold's fire escape.

**X**

"_Grandma," Arnold said at breakfast, "__**Helga Pataki **__was on my fire escape last night!" He took a sip of milk and asked, "Why would __**she **__be there? She __**hates **__me!"_

_Gertie only shrugged half-heartedly and began singing the national anthem as she continued fixing breakfast._

**XI**

I turn away from the window and take down the box filled with Miles and Stella's possessions, which I plan to give to Arnold. I sigh, and open the box with just the slightest tinge of sadness. Comic books, old stuffed animals, and elementary school projects of Miles' fill the box, along with essays he wrote in middle school, high school, and college, his school diplomas, and mountains of photo albums filled with pictures from his childhood, teenage and college years. Next, are the various souvenirs he picked up in San Lorenzo – jungle animals carved out of wood and painted with the brightest of colors, woven blankets, postcards, and various pictures of scenery and everyday life in the country. The hardest albums for me to look at are filled with the pictures from him in San Lorenzo, with Stella, their wedding, and the little time they spent with Arnold. I shut my eyes defiantly, refusing to let the tears fall.

I sift through these things and come across Stella's possessions; her mother passed away shortly after her birth and her father died during her first year of university in a car accident. Shortly before she and Miles left for San Lorenzo for their final mission, she left her things with us and asked that it be placed with Miles' possessions. Again, I sift through her endless childhood mementos and various books about plants and botany until I come across photographs of her time with Miles. There are some pictures of her with Arnold, and I take out her wedding dress, now old, and a faded yellow color due to being boxed up for all these years. Lastly, I come across an old, sepia toned photograph in a nice, dark oak wood frame. In the picture is a man, in his early twenties, with an oblong head, shaped just like a football, and wild, unruly brown hair. With the exception of the brown hair, he bears a striking resemblance to my grandson, but rather, it is his namesake, Stella's late father.

Stella loved her father so much; that was why Arnold was named after him. He was the man who raised her and introduced her to botany and the sciences. He supported her passion for the subject and bought her various books and science kits throughout her childhood and teenage years. I take the picture out of the box and place it in another one gently, making sure to cushion the picture before I close the box so it won't break.

When Arnold first wanted to know the truth about his parents, Phil and I decided to go slowly into the subject. We felt it was essential that we explained things clearly to Arnold, and we didn't want to rush into anything. Arnold knows very little about Stella's family, and it's hard to find information when everything we know about our daughter-in-law fills up only half a box. Perhaps when Arnold is older, and knows everything we've told him, he will contact his mother's old colleagues, and perhaps, find them. Phil and I tried with the old address book Stella left in our care; unfortunately, many of these people had her traveling, adventurous spirit. They never stayed in one spot for a long period of time and have no phone numbers recorded to their name.

I exhale deeply and put the phone book back into the box and close it. I let my tears fall, knowing that it's okay to cry. I miss my son and daughter-in-law more than words can describe. They were only supposed to be gone one week, but one week has turned into eight years. I would trade anything just to have them here again – to see them, to hug and kiss them, for them to witness Arnold grow up. God, if only they were back… Arnold would probably have siblings. They would all reside here, in the boardinghouse. Just our family – Miles, Stella, Arnold, the siblings Arnold could've had, Phil, and I, we'd take up the entire third floor. The third floor would be our escape whenever the boarders drove us mad. Arnold would have his parents, and they'd probably be doctors at the Hillwood Medical Center, or scientists, or both. We'd take exotic family vacations for foreign lands.

If only…

But I cannot dwell on that. I have an extension of Miles and Stella to love and protect – Arnold.

Arnold. He looks like the late grandfather he's named after. He has Stella's nose, but has the green eyes of both his parents and his father's blonde hair. He has his father's personality – calm, laid back, idealistic, precocious, and wise beyond his years. Like both his parents, he receives top marks in school. Arnold has a good heart and is compassionate, always wanting to help those in need. Yet, despite his perception, he appears to know nothing of Helga's deep love for him.

_Boys…_

Phil was clueless too.

Then again, not _all_ boys are.

**XII**

_The Great Depression had taken a toll on nearly everyone in Hillwood. At some point, Gertie and most of her classmates had been forced to drop out of school in order to help their families survive. She was fortunate enough to make it through high school, but some people, like Phil, didn't even make it past the sixth grade. Just when it seemed like everything was turning around, picking up again, just as Gertie finished her application to attend the local university, and just as Phil was getting ready to resume and finish his education, America went to war against both Germany and Japan._

_Gertie found herself enlisting, not to fight on the battlefront, but to keep records in the army offices and serve as a nurse in the hospitals. She was assigned to stay locally and care for the soldiers who'd been injured during their active duty and to do some occasional paperwork. It wasn't much, but Gertie felt proud knowing that she could help her country in even the smallest way. Phil and Miles enlisted; Phil was headed for Europe, and Miles, for the Pacific, where he would fight against the Japanese after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Joseph would not be going with them, as he had failed the physical examination. Of course, he probably would've passed had he watched his diet better, but nevertheless, he vowed to do all he could to help the war effort from Hillwood._

_The night before Phil, Miles, and many other soldiers from Hillwood were to leave, a dance was being held at the Circle Theatre. Gertie didn't plan on going, but all that changed in an instant._

_While walking home from the grocery store to pick up some necessities for dinner, Miles stopped her._

"_Gertie, do you plan on going to the dance tonight at the Circle Theatre?" he inquired._

"_I wasn't planning on it," Gertie replied, "But I know you're going with Mitzi."_

_Mitzi was Phil's twin sister, and the two of them hadn't spoken in years._

"_Yeah, about that," Miles answered. "I figured that since I was going with Mitzi, I was thinking that maybe you and Phil could go together."_

"_This isn't one of your many ill-conceived attempts to have them reconcile, is it?"_

"_No," Miles replied, "I figured we could all go as a last hurrah before Phil and I take off tomorrow… but it would be nice if they patched things up, you know? I mean, who knows what will happen during this war and how long it will last."_

_Gertie nodded. Miles really was a good person. He was hardworking and humble, and it was easy to see why Mitzi fell so hard for him; he was tall and muscular, with sharp, defined features, thick, light brown hair that was often covered with blonde sun streaks, and amber eyes one could get lost in._

"_You do have a point," Gertie admitted, "But the chances of Phil and Gertie ever speaking to each other again are pretty low."_

"_Over a pet dog, too," Miles sighed. "But listen – you wouldn't mind going with Phil, would you? Mitzi's great and all, but she's a piece of work."_

"_Phil hates me," Gertie answered. "We haven't spoken since he told me he hated me and that he never wanted to see my ugly face again… and then he had to drop out of school to help his family, and we just haven't talked."_

"_He doesn't hate you," Miles said, "But I know for a fact that you tormenting Miles wasn't because you despised him."_

_Miles was really too perceptive for his own good._

"_Fine," Gertie said shortly, "I'm madly in love with Phil, and have been since we were children… but I could never express it properly, hence all the ridicule." She glared at him before asking, "Satisfied?"_

"_I'll talk to Phil," Miles grinned, "And trick him into going. Who knows? It might be the best thing that ever happened to the two of you." He patted Gertie on the shoulder before taking off._

_That night, Gertie stood in the middle of the Circle Theatre dance floor, waiting for Phil to show up. Miles and Mitzi danced circles around her while Dino Spumoni sang on the theatre stage. Miles told Phil to come to the theatre, under the guise that he set a blind date up for him. He told him to look for the girl in the lavender dress._

_Gertie had taken extra pains with her appearance that night – she was a tomboy and didn't care what she looked like, but tonight, her long, blonde hair was curled and pinned back with light purple clips made for her by her mother, and the fitted, lavender dress she wore was pressed to perfection. She wore some blush and lipstick, polished her black high heels, and sprayed a lilac scented perfume on her wrists and neck. She sprayed some on her dress as well._

**XIII**

I return to the same box where the heart shaped box is kept and take out the same lavender dress I wore that night. The color is no longer bright and vibrant, but is now a strange sort of off-white color, yet the scent of the lilac perfume, remains.

**XIV**

_In the distance, Gertie saw Phil enter the theatre. He was taller now, but still lanky, with the same, distinctive chin she taunted him for but really found adorable. His dark brown hair was neatly combed and his black suit was pressed and ironed. He wore a lavender bow tie, as Miles told him to look for the young woman in the lavender dress._

_Gertie thought it was adorable._

_Phil walked closer to her, scanning his eyes for the young lady Miles told him to look for. When he saw her, however, a horrified look crept upon his face and he turned around and ran away._

"_Phil!" Gertie shouted, running after him, "Phil, please!" she cried, after catching up to him and touching his shoulder._

"_Oh, I'll get that Miles Taylor if it's the last thing I do!" Phil screamed. "I can't believe he did this!"_

"_I'm sorry," Gertie said quietly, taking her hands off him. "I'm sure you were expecting to see someone else… someone prettier than me, more popular than me…__**someone who isn't one of the boys.**__"_

"_Y-you heard me say that?" Phil asked, "Back when we were in the fourth grade?"_

_Gertie nodded. "I'm sorry, Phil. About everything."_

_She took his hand and led him out to the dance floor. "Can we start over?" she asked, as she placed Phil's left hand on her waist and the other one in her right hand. She placed her left arm around his shoulders and began moving to the music. It was awkward, since Phil had no interest in joining her, but after a few moments, he began to sway to the music with her reluctantly. Gertie averted her eyes toward where Miles and Mitzi continued dancing. Miles winked at her before turning back to Mitzi._

"_Phil?"_

"_**Yes?"**_

"_You know all those things I did to you back when we were younger? The pranks, getting you into trouble with the teacher, smashing your baseball bat, calling you Chin Boy… I didn't do those things because I hate you."_

"_**Why did you do it then?" **__Phil demanded, his dark brown eyes piercing her green ones._

"_I did it because… because I love you, Phil," she answered. "I love you with every fiber of my being. I've loved you ever since we were children… I just… I just don't know how to express myself. I didn't plan on falling for you. It just happened. I fell for you the day you gave me your lunch when I forgot mine. It… it impressed me that you would still be nice to someone who teased you."_

"_You still remember that?" Phil said coolly._

_Gertie nodded. "I… I couldn't tell you how I felt. I wanted to be in control of how I felt, but my heart wouldn't let me. It kept leading me back to you."_

"_Is it __**normal **__to hurt the ones you love?" His voice had a sarcastic edge to it, and it hurt; but maybe she didn't deserve his love after everything she did to him. "Did you heart tell you to torment me even though you loved me?" he demanded._

"_No," Gertie admitted, "But it was all I could do." She let him go and said, "If you don't return my feelings, I understand, but know that when I was mean to you, it was only because I couldn't express myself… and because I wanted to be in charge of my feelings."_

_She walked off the dance floor and began walking home._

"_GERTIE! WAIT!"_

_She turned around. It was Phil, running after her._

"_Gertie," he said, when he finally caught up to her. He took her hands in his. "I'm sorry too."_

"_What for?" Gertie inquired. "I was the one who was horrible to you."_

"_I'm sorry I told you I hated you and that I never wanted to see your ugly face again," Phil said. "You're not ugly, Gertie. In fact, I think you're beautiful," he breathed deeply, and he gently held Gertie's chin, tilted her head back and kissed her._

_When the two of them pulled apart from the other, the smell of Phil's cologne now slightly blended in with Gertie's perfume, she asked, "Can we start over?"_

"_May I have this dance?"_

_Gertie nodded, and the two of them walked back into the Circle Theatre to have their first dance, together._

**XV**

That night, Phil and I promised to write to each other while he was off at war. After the dance ended that night, and after he dropped me off that evening, I knew. I knew that if it wasn't meant to be that I spend the rest of my life with Phil Shortman that I would surely die.

**XVI**

_The next morning, Gertie woke up to say goodbye to Phil. Like with last night, she made sure she looked nice for Phil, again, curling her hair, pressing and ironing her favorite red dress, wearing lipstick and blush, and her signature perfume. Gertie walked with Mitzi to City Hall, where all the soldiers waited for their rides to come. Gertie knew that Mitzi was deeply in love with Miles even though he didn't feel the same way._

_When Gertie approached Phil, wearing the same brown suit, dark green dress shirt, and brown tie as the other soldiers, his brown eyes brightened, and he ran over to her, holding her close to him._

"_You look so handsome in that suit," Gertie told him, surveying him in his suit._

"_**You look beautiful,"**__Phil replied. "No, you __**are **__beautiful," he said as he kissed her._

"_I'll write to you everyday," she promised him. "Twice a day, if I have the time."_

"_And I'll read your letters every night," Phil promised her in return, "And reply to every single one."_

"_Hey, lovebirds."_

_Phil and Gertie turned around. It was Miles, wearing the dark brown suit. "It's good to see the two of you together," he smiled._

"_Miles!" Gertie exclaimed, hugging her close to him, "Thank you for everything… and __**please, **__for the love of all things holy, __**be careful **__out there!"_

"_I will," Miles promised. He walked toward Phil and shook his hand before embracing him in a hug. "Promise me you'll make it back to Hillwood," he said. __**"Promise me."**_

"_I promise," Phil said. "You come home too, okay?" he said, before breaking down._

_Tears coursed down Gertie's cheeks as she watched the two friends say their goodbyes. As long as this war lasted, it would be hard on everyone. She turned to where Mitzi stood off to the side. She was a wreck. She loved Miles even though he didn't love her in return; he cared for her, but simply didn't feel the same way. Gertie hoped that some of the tears Mitzi shed were for her brother, too. Even though the two of them hadn't spoken to the other in years, as they both blamed each other for the death of their pet dog, she hoped that somewhere, deep down, that Mitzi wanted Phil to return home safely._

"_**Soldiers! Your rides are here! Please assemble to where the cars will take you to your designated training camps!"**_

_Phil ran toward Gertie and kissed her on the cheek.__**"I promise to come home,"**__he told her, before running off to catch his ride, on his way to war._

**XVII**

I take out the photograph taken of the four of us before Phil and Miles left. To the far left of the photograph are Phil and I, our arms around each other, and to the right, and Miles and Mitzi, their arms around each other in a friendly manner, Mitzi trying to smile through her tears. I smile and touch the old black and white photograph gently. Times were changing, but my feelings for Phil, never would.

**XVIII**

_Growing up, Gertie and Mitzi often spent the night at each other's houses, cooking sweets with the minimal ingredients they had, laughing together, gossiping, and talking about boys. However, in those years, Gertie never said anything to Mitzi about her feelings for her friend's brother._

_As the two of them walked away from City Hall, Mitzi said coldly, "I find it interesting that you and my brother are so chummy now."_

_Bewildered, Gertie inquired, "Why is that?"_

"_He hates you, and you always tormented him when we were children! What is this – this __**act **__you're putting on with him? He's horrible, Gertie, and it's __**his **__fault that Pooter's dead!"_

_Gertie rolled her eyes. "Can't you get over that?" she demanded, "Pooter's death was an accident, and you both know it."_

"_You didn't answer my question," Mitzi spat, "Why are you and my brother putting on a show?"_

"_**We're not,"**__Gertie answered,__**"I love your brother, Mitzi."**_

_Mitzi stopped dead in her tracks. "You __**love **__my brother?"_

_Gertie understood why this was so hard for Mitzi. The two of them had been best friends since childhood and had their disagreements, but this was the first time that something could actually put their friendship into jeopardy. Mitzi loved Miles, but knew that he would never return that, and here, Gertie had found love with the brother she resented._

"_I've loved him since I was a child," Gertie answered. "Tormenting him was just my way of expressing it… it was the wrong way to do it, and I know that, but it was the only way I could. Phil knows, and he loves me back. We're going to write to each other."_

_Mitzi harrumphed and walked ahead of Gertie. In the years to come, this would put a strain on their friendship, and they, too, wouldn't speak again until her impulsive visit to the boardinghouse many years later._

**XIX**

I roll my eyes thinking of the petty jealousies Mitzi once had of me. When she came to the boardinghouse on random, not even bothering to inform Phil or I of it, I was the one who patched things up with her. I was the one who invited Mitzi to spend the night in the bedroom Phil and I normally shared so we could have a sleepover, like the good old days. I was the one who helped Mitzi sort through the insecurities and resentment she harbored for many years, and I was the one who talked to her, and Phil, separately, about the reconciliation that needed to take place.

Phil and Mitzi have patched things up since then, but it wasn't easy. I know Mitzi no longer feels resentful or jealous of me, but I still remember how much it hurt, the fact that she shunned me. I take out the letters Phil and I exchanged and read them over, smiling. I love Phil's humor, and he always managed to fit a joke or two into his letters. I think Mitzi was jealous of me sometimes, because I would receive numerous letters from Phil while Miles didn't write her all that much. I was sure it wasn't because Miles didn't feel the same way, but it was because he was further away, in the deep Pacific, fighting off a frightful enemy who already bombed our country's naval fleet and headquarters for the Pacific Fleet. I assured Gertie that perhaps, when Miles came home, that he would want to have some sort of a relationship with her.

Sadly, that was not meant to be. A year and five months after Phil and Miles left to fight in the war, we were informed of Miles' death in the Battle of Buna-Gona. I was devastated, and the letter I wrote to him, telling him of the news, is forever stained with my tears. Mitzi was inconsolable. Somehow, a few soldiers in Miles' fleet managed to find his body and have it sent back to Hillwood for a "proper" funeral. During the service, Mitzi had to be sent out of the chapel because she was causing a huge scene, and was not allowed to attend the burial because of it.

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor moved away from Hillwood just three months after burying their only child. Mitzi followed suit a year later and left Hillwood, never to be seen again, though she occasionally wrote letters to me. When Phil and I got married, she didn't come to the wedding, and for a number of years, didn't write to me.

**XX**

_Dear Mitzi,_

_I am happy to tell you that after several years of trying for a child, that Phil and I were blessed with our beautiful son, Miles Philip Shortman, who was born in the early hours of this morning, weighing eight pounds, seven ounces, and measuring at twenty-one inches in length._

_We named him after our dear, late friend who helped us look past our own immaturity and realize our love for each other. Phil and I believe that naming our son after Miles Taylor, who gallantly gave his life for his country, and was a wonderful friend to us, is the best way to honor his legacy._

_Phil and I love already love our new son dearly. He is a beautiful baby and we hope you will come and see him soon._

_With love,_

_~Gertie~_

_A few days later, Gertie received a telephone call from an angry Mitzi._

"_**Who do you think you are?" **__she demanded, __**"Naming your son after the man I loved – the man I lost in war!"**_

"_**Miles was our friend too, Mitzi," **__Gertie told her, "And he was the one who brought us together. Phil and I found it an appropriate tribute to pay to him."_

_Mitzi hissed at Gertie and hung up._

**XXI**

I always knew Miles' death was hard on Mitzi; she never married after leaving Hillwood, and moved to California in an attempt to become a star. When Hollywood didn't work out, she turned to fashion. She never quite did break out into the fashion world, but she got by, and even a few celebrities enjoyed her signature collections. She had always been well dressed when we were growing up, even during the Depression, and it didn't surprise me, when she returned to Hillwood, to see her decked out in the nicest clothing and furs.

I'm grateful that she and Phil have since reconciled. Arnold brought them back together – like father, like son, like namesake, as Miles Taylor was the very man who brought Phil and I together, helped us see past our immaturity and petty resentments toward the other person, and helped Phil admit that he liked me. He helped me tell Phil that I always loved him. I know too well that Arnold always helps his friends and is the peacemaker among them, even when it isn't sensible for him to do so; his father and Miles Taylor were the same way. I am proud that I have honored Miles Taylor's legacy by naming my own son after him. I am proud that _my_ Miles grew up with a compassionate heart and earnest desire to help those around him. I am proud to be taking care of _my_ Miles' legacy – his son, Arnold, and to see him emulate the same attributes. Until Miles returns, I will always miss him and I will always look after Arnold and honor the legacy he has left.

Taking out another photography from the box, I smile somewhat sadly while looking at it.

It is a picture of Phil and I, with Miles, when he was only a few months old. We're standing at the wharf, and Phil still has dark brown hair even though it is peppered with a few grey streaks. However, his face remains free of any wrinkles, as opposed to mine – my hair is still blonde, but there are slight wrinkles around my eyes and on my forehead. Miles is a happy baby, smiling widely for the camera. He was a gorgeous baby; wherever we went, people always commented on how adorable he was and how he was destined to be good looking when he was older.

He was. Miles grew up to be very handsome, having a whole slew of secret admirers all throughout his school days.

I look at the picture and remember who took it. Bob Pataki, Helga's father. He was twelve or thirteen at the time, with blonde hair and that distinct unibrow he would pass down to his daughter, Helga. He was rather large for his age, and I knew at the time that his family wasn't well off. Even though is parents loved him deeply, they couldn't provide him with the stability he yearned for as a child. However, when I asked if he would take the picture, he agreed.

In the years to come, something changed about the young adolescent. As he grew older, he became power hungry. He worked hard for the life of stability he has today, and his successful beeper emporium and all the money he could ever want, guarantees him that. However, to sacrifice his daughter's well being in the process is just inexcusable. I've had enough run-ins with him, hearing him ridicule my grandson, my husband, myself, and his daughter, Helga, to know that something's off with the man. I wonder if he realizes that he's not the father figure Helga needs in her life… she needs someone who will love and care about her for who she is, and not for who someone wants her to be. Bob keeps pushing her to be someone she's not, and he loses her in the process.

I've been around Helga enough to know that.

Still, I know that my son and daughter-in-law are out there. I know they will one day return; sometimes, I get the feeling that Arnold will be the one who will bring them back… and when he does, I will be the first to hold _my_ Miles close to me. I will hug and kiss him and shed tears of joy. I will hug Stella too, the daughter I never had, and tell her how happy I am that she's back. I will rejoice when I see Miles and Stella hug Arnold close to them. It will be a happy day to see that reunion.

One day, I am sure of it, Helga will confess her love to my grandson, just like I confessed my love for Phil to him. Someday she will come out of her shell and not be afraid to be herself, and someday, she will find the one person who loves her for exactly who she is. Sometimes I get the feeling that history will repeat itself, and that Arnold will be the one to come to her rescue. He has, many times before, and will probably do so again.

Some things are just meant to be.

Someday, Mitzi and Phil will have a better relationship – better than the one they have now, even though they've reconciled. Someday, Mitzi will come to terms with the reason why we named our son after Miles Taylor… she never quite came to terms with that, even during her visit to Hillwood. But she will, once she meets _my_ Miles herself.

I hold up the black and white photo of the four of us – Phil and I, with Miles and Mitzi, in my left hand. In my right hand, I hold up Miles' senior picture; this picture is in color, and Miles is dressed in his nicest suit, his hair styled neatly and very unlike the messy hairstyle in which he always wore his hair. I look at Miles Taylor and at my son Miles, and notice a resemblance between the two.

I smile upon seeing this.

I have not always been in control of the occurrences in my life. In an ideal world, Miles Taylor would still be alive and kicking with Phil and myself. Arnold would have his parents – _my_ Miles and Stella, here, and not missing in the jungles somewhere. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have taken Phil and I so many years to have a child, and in a perfect world, Mitzi would've been perfectly find with Phil and I naming our son after our late friend. In a perfect world, there would still be control.

But this is not a perfect world, and sometimes it's okay to not always be in command, especially of your heart. It's okay to do what your heart tells you, because sometimes, letting your heart guide you might just be for the best.

Doing so was the best thing that every happened to me.

That is the most valuable lesson I've learned over the years. I'm still learning it today. I've learned that it's okay to cry, even when you don't want to. I've learned it's okay simply live, and not plan every detail. Sometimes it's okay to step back a bit and let whatever happens, happen. It's okay to suspend command sometimes. The boardinghouse is crazy because of it, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

When I look out the window again, I find Arnold helping Helga up after she's tripped on the sidewalk. Arnold asks her something, she shrugs, and then nods, and the two walk off together.

Arnold is walking Helga home, and it's only the beginning of something wonderful to come.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For Thundercatroar.


	2. Pappou

**Chapter II: Pappou**

**I**

"_Poor Helga,"_ I think to myself as I watch her walk past the boardinghouse, her head hanging, and her feet shuffling slowly against the pavement. _"That poor little girl, having to live with a monster like Big Bob Pataki."_ Ironically, one of Big Bob Pataki's beeper commercials is on instead of my usual vaudeville. I turn off the television in frustration and watch as she pauses in front of the boardinghouse, looks up, notices me looking out the window, and takes off running at breakneck speed. She knows I know her secret and about her deep, undying love for my grandson, Arnold. I sigh and watch her until she's out of sight. Considering that she doesn't want anyone to know of her love for Arnold, she's left behind a little pink book full of loony poetry, a long, lyrical message on our answering machine, gone sleepwalking, eaten meals, taken showers, and stayed overnight in our house, released that blasted parrot of hers, spouting off a love poem that'd make the normal nine-year-old boy swear never to get married, and most recently, she's let her locket, the large golden one with Arnold's picture on the outside, get into his possession.

I knew all along that the locket belonged to Helga. Gertie knew it too. I can't tell you how much fun it was wearing the thing around, pretending it was a present from my beloved wife, gushing about how wonderful it was, both to Arnold's disdain as well as Helga's. These scenarios add the very spice to my life and to the boardinghouse. They also make me admire Helga for her tenacity, smarts, and passion.

At the same time, though, it makes me worry.

Though I know of Helga's deep affection for Arnold, I don't know if he feels the same way… yet. History repeats itself, and my life is nothing but repetition; Gertie teased me mercilessly throughout our schooldays, but it was because she loved me and could not express herself or let her heart take control. It took me a while to figure it out, even with the help of my close, late friend, Miles Taylor. It took even longer for me to admit that I'd fallen in love with _her;_and though history repeats itself, times _are_ different. I've pondered many times the possibility that Arnold knows of Helga's affection for him. He knows deep down that she's not really a bad person. He's a smart kid, and knowing about Gertie and I might give him reason to believe, and to know, that Helga loves him. Since Helga won't tell Arnold outright, I get the feeling that he might have to be the one to confront her about it… but what if he never does? What if, when he grows up, he meets someone else and doesn't tell Helga of his suspicions?

Helga would be devastated; the poor girl doesn't need to feel that anymore, though she brings the possibility of unrequited love and of heartbreak onto herself.

But I know why she does it – the endless torment, the locket, the love poems, the obsessive secrecy, the fact that she loves my grandson so strongly and more than life itself.

She loves him because he was the first.

He was the first to look out for her.

**II**

_It was eight in the morning when Phil woke up. Harsh rains fell against the dark, deep grey sky. Despite the dreary weather, he woke up feeling better than he had in years._

_The grief was still there, and it would be so long as his son, Miles, and daughter-in-law, Stella, were missing in the vast jungles of San Lorenzo; but today, the grief wasn't as audible. Phil was learning how to deal with it. Gertie still struggled – some days, Phil found her in the attic, the box containing Miles and Stella's possessions strewn all over the floor in front of her. Her head would be in her hands as she rocked herself and sobbed for them. Other days, he'd find her standing in front of a sink full of dishes, but she only looked at them, her eyes aimless and wandering, as if waiting for them to walk in the door at any moment. Gertie only did this when she was alone. When finished with her grieving, she put on a happy face and resumed her crazy antics in front of the boarders. She was improving though; it was gradual, but it was all Phil could ask for. He bent down and kissed her forehead before going down the hall to Arnold's room._

_Even he was getting better – he no longer woke up screaming for his parents during the night, or wandered the hallways looking for them. It happened every night the first year Miles and Stella were gone, and it resulted in many sleepless nights for Phil, Gertie, and the rest of the boarders. Phil remedied the situation by telling Arnold a story about his parents every night before he went to bed._

"_Morning, Shortman," Phil said gently as he walked toward Arnold's small bed. "It's time for your first day of preschool."_

_Arnold opened his eyes slowly and smiled. "Are you going to take me, Grandpa?" he asked, sitting up in bed._

"_Of course, Shortman," Phil answered, a wide smile on his face, as he picked up Arnold and helped him get dressed, "We'll drive the Packard to preschool, and afterwards, I'll take you to Slausen's to get an ice-cream cone."_

_It had been a tradition he started with Miles, on his first day of preschool._

"_Okay, Grandpa," Arnold smiled while Phil put his blue cap on for him. "I can't wait for the ice-cream."_

"_Atta boy," Phil said, "Don't forget your umbrella, Arnold. It's raining outside."_

_As Phil carried Arnold downstairs, umbrella in hand, the smell of pancakes_

_wafted through his nose. When the two of them got downstairs, Gertie, decked out in cowgirl get-up and her signature red hat, greeted them with a full platter of pancakes._

"_Here's your breakfast, Tex," she said, placing a plate of breakfast in front of her grandson after Phil settled him in his booster seat, "You need to have your strength for when you fight against the Indians."_

_Arnold laughed and played with his food as Phil watched him, feeling nostalgic. He knew Gertie felt the same way as she watched their grandson, the very extension of their own child. The sadness and longing in her own eyes were masked and hidden, but Phil knew it was still there. After a few minutes, he picked up Arnold, kissed Gertie goodbye, and got the Packard ready._

_The drive to the preschool only took a few minutes. Phil chuckled as he listened to Arnold observe the little that happened outside in the rain._

_Phil couldn't help but laugh when Arnold exclaimed, "Grandpa! Look at the giant water falling from the sky!"_

_When they finally got to the preschool, Phil got Arnold out and opened his umbrella before handing it to him._

"_There you go, Shortman," he said, "This is so you won't get wet from the giant rain," he smiled._

_When Phil looked up, he noticed a little girl staring at him with blue, forlorn eyes. Her blonde hair was in pigtails with a large, pink bow on top of her head. However, the hair was wet, matted, and covered with mud. Her pink overalls were also muddy, as were her face, arms, and legs. Tears fell from her cheeks as she watched Phil and Arnold together._

"_Where are that little girl's parents?" Phil thought angrily. "What are they __**thinking, **__letting her roam about the city by herself, especially in this weather? It's __**dangerous!**__"_

_Phil squinted and looked at the little girl again. He knew that face – the girl looked exactly like her father, the man he always saw on those stupid beeper commercials. Big Bob Pataki. He was a nice kid when he was growing up, but during his university years, something changed about the boy. He became power hungry and overambitious. Phil couldn't blame him for craving a life of stability, but to strive for it at the expense of his own daughter was something he never understood. The moment his son Miles was born, Phil vowed to never do anything at his expense; and when he became Arnold's legal guardian after Miles and Stella were never heard from after their final venture into the jungles of San Lorenzo, he promised the same thing he promised his own son._

_He was about to get up and go to the little girl herself when Arnold held out his umbrella to her._

"_Hi!" he exclaimed, his green eyes shining, a huge grin upon his face._

"_Huh?"_

_The girl looked up at Arnold, and then at Phil, bewildered. Phil smiled at the exchange between his grandson and the daughter of the beeper king, but inside, his heart sank. It was clear that the poor little girl was neglected at home and was never nurtured, hugged, kissed, cared for, or loved. It devastated Phil how parents could be so uncaring toward their own. He remembered all those years filled with anguish and heartache as he and Gertie tried for a child; not even doctor's visits and fertility treatments helped, and how, everywhere he went, when he saw parents with their children and the joy it brought into their lives, how much he wanted that opportunity. He would've __**died **__for it. Phil didn't become a father until he was forty-four, and it wasn't until he and Gertie decided to stop trying for children and be content with their lives that Gertie, much to Phil's shock, amazement, and joy, became pregnant._

_He just didn't understand how people could neglect their children like that._

"_I like your bow," Arnold said, "Because it's pink and it matches your pants."_

_Phil watched as Arnold walked into the preschool and hung up his coat while the little girl stared after him wistfully, sighing in content._

"_Let's get you cleaned up," Phil said to her. "I'll walk you in."_

_She smiled and nodded up at Phil before the two of them walked inside._

**III**

To this day, I remember how much that sight, of seeing Helga Pataki, all alone, caked in mud, crying, watching as Arnold and I had a happy moment together… I still remember how much it hurt to see how much neglect that little girl had already gone through in her short life. Despite my age, I couldn't comprehend how parents could be so heartless and how they could just toss aside their children like they're worthless. I still feel that way. I feel those feelings even stronger than the average parent because I had to _wait_ to become a father, only for my son and his wife, the beautiful daughter I never had, be ripped away from me.

The animosity between Bob Pataki and I didn't start from the fact that he likes to mercilessly taunt me and call me "The Oldest Living American" even though Pookie's the oldest. I could speak volumes about the man and his power hungry and money digging ways; but that's not where it started, either. It doesn't come from the fact that he insults my wife to her face, claiming that she's a mentally unstable hag and a lunatic, proving in the process that the man hasn't heard of entertainment. It didn't start from him taking stabs at my grandson, calling him an orphan and questioning his parentage, forcing Arnold, Gertie, and I to feel that void more than is necessary. The animosity between us doesn't come from the fact that the man doesn't think, although that much is true.

**IV**

_The weather was still stormy as Phil took Arnold to get his ice-cream cone at Slausen's. During Arnold's stay at preschool, the wind had picked up and was now blowing fiercely at the trees and those who walked against it, keeping their faces covered with their jackets from the alarming, windswept chill._

"_How was preschool, Shortman?" Phil asked Arnold._

"_It was fun, Grandpa," Arnold smiled. "I gave Helga my crackers because Harold stole hers."_

"_Is Helga the little friend you met earlier today?" Phil asked, "The one who was in the rain and all muddy?"_

_Arnold nodded. "She's all clean now," he said._

"_Good," Phil said. "I'm glad."_

_When Phil and Helga walked into the preschool, he didn't hesitate in informing the teacher of the situation he found Helga in, asking the teacher that she keep an eye on Helga, get her cleaned up, and inform her parents that she got to preschool safely. When the teacher reassured Phil that she would do those things and thanked him, he waved to Arnold and drove back home, glad that the little girl was now in good hands._

"_Arnold, do you know what ice cream you want?" Phil asked as he watched Arnold marvel at all the different flavors. "You can get chocolate, vanilla, strawberry…"_

"_Can I have chocolate, Grandpa?" Arnold asked brightly._

_Phil could never say no to Arnold. He was the light in the old man's life, an extension of both Miles Shortman and Miles Taylor that he vowed to always protect, look after, and indulge on occasions._

"_Of course you can," Phil answered. Turning to the man behind the ice cream counter, he ordered two chocolate ice cream cones. After paying for them, he and Arnold turned to leave Slausen's. "Don't forget to open your umbrella, Shortman," Phil said. "It's still raining outside."_

"_Okay, Grandpa," Arnold beamed. "Can you hold my ice cream cone while I open it?"_

_Phil nodded, knelt down, and took Arnold's ice cream cone, watching with care as Arnold opened his umbrella._

_While giving his grandson his ice cream back, the bell above the door to Slausen's rang, indicating that someone walked inside._

"_**YOU! OLD MAN!"**_

_Phil looked up. It was none other than Bob Pataki himself, with his daughter Helga in tow. He glared down at Phil before speaking again._

"_**HOW DARE YOU HAVE THE PRESCHOOL CALL ME AT MY HOUSE!"**__Bob roared, spraying spit everywhere. "YOU HAD __**NO **__PLACE DOING THAT!"_

_Phil stood up and looked at Big Bob with a disgusted look on his face. "__**You had no business letting your daughter roam the neighborhood alone,"**__he snarled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is to let a three year old little girl walk around by herself? She could've gotten hurt or kidnapped!" He looked down at watched as Helga stood off to the right side of her father, scared to go near him._

"_No child should be scared of her own father," Phil thought to himself as he looked at the little girl. She looked up at him, her big, blue eyes glistening with tears yet again. Phil felt his heart break at the sight._

"_Also," Phil spat icily, "What were you thinking, letting her roam all over Hillwood in this weather? She could've gotten sick? Do you realize – "_

"_The kid got mud all over her, so what?" Bob sneered, "She got cleaned up, didn't she? It's not a big deal!"_

_Something inside Phil snapped. He always knew Bob Pataki came from a troubled home and that he only yearned for a more stable environment. It was ironic… neglecting his own flesh and blood, putting her life in danger, the lack of care, taking her for granted, even while knowing that there were people in the world that wanted children so badly, like Phil once wanted in the same manner, all for the sake of money and stability… it was ironic._

_It was __**wrong.**_

"_**You are an unfit parent, Mr. Pataki!" **__Phil screamed at him. "Look at your daughter! She's scared to go near you! You let her roam around the city despite the dangers associated with it. You don't care that she could've gotten herself sick in this weather without wearing a jacket. __**You don't care about her or her well being! **__All you care about is running your stupid beeper 'empire' that's never going to get out of Hillwood!"_

_The silence spoke volumes as Phil realized that everyone inside Slausen's was now watching him and Big Bob argue. Even Arnold, still holding his umbrella in his left hand, his ice cream cone in his right, waiting to leave, stared up at him in shock. Helga stopped trembling and walked toward Arnold. Phil watched as Bob's face, which was bright red, and contorted with rage, his eyes, full of fury, turned to Phil._

"_You think I'm an unfit parent?" he said coldly. "At least I don't leave my child behind while I go on jungle adventures and never come back."_

"_**You leave my son out of this, Pataki," **__Phil snarled. "He and Stella had every intention of coming back. They__** didn't go to San Lorenzo to go on an adventure. They left to bring medicine to the people living there. **__Unlike other people I know, Miles and Stella would never __**choose **__to neglect their son, Arnold. They love him." Turning to Arnold, he said, "Let's go, Shortman."_

_Arnold, nodded, a look of shock still apparent on his face, and followed his grandfather out of Slausen's. Phil turned around briefly and looked at Helga. She looked at him and smiled._

_A small understanding between the two of them was born._

**V**

I walk out of the living room, past the kitchen, and upstairs to the attic. The first thing I see is the old parrot cage Arnold used to house the loony parrot that spouted off all that love poetry. After Helga's monitor lizard ate it, Arnold put the cage in the attic and returned all the pet food to the store, more shocked than angry at the fact that the parrot met a grisly end. I didn't bother telling him that the parrot originally belonged to Helga, but I'm sure he'll figure it out on his own… someday. Helga compensated us not only for the parrot, but also for the broken ceiling as well. It gave us the chance to spruce up the attic, something Gertie and I wanted to do for years.

I look and notice that some of the boxes are off the shelves; Gertie probably looked through them yesterday and didn't put them back. I know the boxes contain Miles and Stella's possessions, and many things that belong to Gertie and I. I haven't looked through the two boxes in years, but Gertie looks through them at least once a day. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'll hear her take the steps to the attic and look through the boxes, reminiscing on times gone by.

She's braver than I am. It's hard for me to look through those boxes – to see Miles and Stella's smiling faces, not knowing if they're alive, dead, in some sort if in between, or alternate universe. When the two of them left for San Lorenzo and never returned they left a strong void that I feel very deeply. Everyday, that void grows deeper as their whereabouts remain unknown. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my son and miss him more than the bereaved parent can comprehend; at least bereaved parents, who've buried their children, have that closure, of knowing that their son or daughter is no longer on the earthly journey we all call life. Everyday, I'm left wondering where they are and what they're doing. Sometimes, it seems like everyday is a trial, putting on a smiling face, making the extra joke, and trying to remain strong and act as though everyday is normal when in reality, I'm falling apart on the inside.

I turn to the first box, the one containing many of Gertie's things. I open it slowly and come across a yellow heart shaped box with green trimming. When I open the box, I see various pictures of myself during my childhood, mounted on faded, colored paper. I smile when I see the bits of the broken baseball bat Gertie broke, angry that my team beat her. Lastly, I come across the old, withered dandelions Gertie tried to give me as an apology gift, but that I refused to accept. I hurt her feelings that day, and it'd be years since we'd speak to each other again, even though I knew better.

**VI**

_Phil looked out the window, his arms folded, ignoring his father's lecture._

"_That's not the way you treat a lady," Phil thought to himself, "Well, did it ever occur to him that what Gertie's been doing to me is __**not **__the way to treat __**a person?**__" He wondered if his father would take all the treatment Gertie threw at him, the teasing and endless pranks in stride. Phil doubted it. He doubted that his father would stand by and let it happen._

_Then again, hadn't Phil done the same thing?_

"_Philip?" his father inquired, "Have you even been listening to what I'm telling you?"_

_Phil turned around, his arms still folded, and faced his father. "Do you expect me to just take her insults like that? I've __**tried **__being nice to her – I gave her my lunch that day she forgot hers, and she still __blamed me for exchanging Mr. Smith's apple with a wax one later that day even though __**she **__was the one who did it! I've even tried ignoring her, but I can't do it anymore, Dad!"_

"_Do you really think she's ugly?" his father asked._

"_What does that have to do with anything?" Phil demanded as he looked up into his father's deep brown eyes. "What does that have to do with Gertie always being mean to me?"_

_His father sat down on Phil's bed and motioned his son to sit next to him. After Phil sat next to his father, he felt his father's eyes on him again. "Do you, Son?"_

"_No," Phil admitted, "She could look nice if she wanted to, but she doesn't. She's just one of the boys, Dad."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_I just do!" Phil said in defiance._

"_Son," his father said, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the reason why Gertie acts the way she does is because she likes you?"_

_Phil snorted. "That's what Miles told me… but why would she do those things to me if she likes me?"_

_His father put his arm around Phil and said, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Gertie's just insecure? That maybe, for whatever reason, she can't tell you how she feels?"_

"_No," Phil whispered._

"_She's not so bad, is she? She picked flowers for you. Has anyone else ever done that?"_

"_No."_

"_Has she done anything else for you?"_

_"Sometimes she gives me the answers in class when I don't know them," Phil admitted, looking down at his hands. "Sometimes she helps me out when I don't know the answers."_

"_There are worse things in life, Son," his father told him as he patted his shoulders and got up from the bed. "You dropped this, by the way," he said, handing a single dandelion to Phil._

_His father left the room, leaving Phil to ponder the small, delicate dandelion in his fingers._

**VII**

I've always been a very good actor, putting on a smiling face and pretending that everything's okay. I do it for Arnold more than I care to admit, but sometimes I think he knows more than what I tell him. I did it for years after Gertie and I stopped talking. I pretended to hate her. I never hated her, but for a while, I didn't like her. It's hard to like someone who puts tacks on your chair and ties you to anthills. Over the years, however, something changed in Gertie. She blossomed. Though still a tomboy, she grew into her looks and became a very striking young woman. I saw that she had a good heart. I witnessed her compassion as she enlisted to be a nurse during the war. I saw it as she helped her mother after her father's untimely death and became her mother's saving grace. I saw it as she entertained the neighborhood children with her one-act shows and always gave them cookies at the end. Her actions reaffirmed what I realized as a child: that Gertie wasn't a horrible person.

I didn't want to admit it, but I was starting to fall for her.

Despite my growing feelings for Gertie, I kept them a secret and hid my affection for her. I had everyone under the pretense that I wanted nothing to do with Gertie, even though I dreamed of her every night.

Everyone believed me.

Except Miles Taylor.

God, I miss that guy so much. Miles was different from my other childhood friends… Jimmy Kafka was fair-weathered to a fault and it eventually led to us never speaking again. Joseph Stubbs and I lost touch during the war, and he kicked the bucket shortly after my return, mostly due to his poor eating habits and inactive lifestyle. Miles, however, was the one constant in my life, if not for him, then my life would never have changed for the better.

**VIII**

_Miles looked at Phil, incredulous, his light brown hair messier than ever, his amber eyes looking straight into Phil's dark brown ones. "What do you mean you're not going to the dance at the Circle Theatre?"_

"_I just don't want to go," Phil snapped, "I have better things to do."_

"_Like what?"_

_Phil glared at Miles and retorted, "None of your business. I can't believe you have the nerve to go with my sister! You know the two of us don't speak to each other!"_

"_**Over the death of a pet dog that neither of you could have prevented!" **__Miles said darkly. "I know just as well as you do that your sister is a piece of work. __**She asked me **__to go to the dance with her."_

"_You're such a gentleman to accept her invitation," Phil said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He had no idea what he'd gotten himself into._

"_Come on, Phil," Miles encouraged him, "Go to the dance and enjoy yourself. You work too hard at the boardinghouse as it is… think of it as one last hurrah before we all go off to war."_

_Phil looked at his friend and sighed. The next few years were going to be difficult for everyone. So many of the people he grew up with would be oceans away from Hillwood, fighting for the freedom of their country. Many of these young men would never see Hillwood again once they left. It was a sad fact, but true nevertheless._

"_Well, okay," Phil said with reluctance, "But I don't have anyone to go with."_

_Miles grinned and said, "Just show up to the dance tonight and look for the girl in the lavender dress."_

**IX**

As I sort through Gertie's possessions, I come across the lavender dress she wore to the dance that night. The dress itself is no longer the beautiful lavender color it once was, but is now faded and an odd sort of white. However, when I take a deep breath, the scent of her lilac perfume still lingers. I remember seeing her in that dress the first time. She looked so beautiful in it…

**X**

_Phil walked into the Circle Theatre filled with apprehension, wearing his best suit, pressed to perfection and a lavender bow tie. He spotted Miles and his twin sister, Mitzi, dancing wildly, and couldn't help but laugh. Mitzi was in heaven, but Miles put on a smile for the sake of not hurting her feelings. Scanning the theatre for the girl in a lavender dress, Phil's eyes instantly fell on the young woman standing in the center._

_The lavender dress was fit and snug, and hung in all the right places, showing off her curvy, appetizing figure. Her blonde hair was long, thick, curled to perfection, and pulled back gently with two lavender hair clips. She wore lipstick and had the rosiest cheeks. Her green eyes were large and beautiful as ever, wandering and searching the theatre for her date._

_She was beyond stunning._

_Phil took a double take before realizing who the young woman was._

"_**Miles!" **__Phil growled under his breath,__**"I'm going to kill you!"**_

_Phil walked out of the theatre, frustrated. How could his friend do this to him? Miles knew perfectly well that Gertie wanted nothing to do with him. Was this some sort of elaborate prank? Was it Mitzi's idea of a way to make fun of Phil? He couldn't believe that Miles and Mitzi would team up with Gertie, just for the sake of humiliating him!_

"_Phil!"_

_It was Gertie._

"_Phil, please!" She touched his shoulder. It was a gentle touch. It wasn't a shove, or a slap, but a gentle touch. Phil felt the tension leave his body with her touch. He breathed deeply, loving Gertie, wanting her to touch him again, but refusing to admit it._

"_Oh, I'll get that Miles Taylor if it's the last thing I do!" Phil shouted, "I can't believe he did this!"_

_He really couldn't, either. He loved Gertie, but he was sure Gertie didn't love him. He couldn't believe his best friend, knowing this, would do this to him, and would have him dance with Gertie as a way to humiliate him. It was too good to be true. But it was._

"_I'm sorry," Gertie said, her voice quiet and subdued. "I'm sure you weren't expecting this."_

"_No, I wasn't," Phil thought to himself. He turned around and looked at Gertie, still beautiful as ever, her porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight. God, she was beautiful._

_His mind wandered, "Anything but this."_

_He hoped this wasn't a joke. He really did. Phil wanted Gertie more he wanted to admit. All these years, he refused to acknowledge his feelings for her; and while he knew that she wasn't a bad person and that she really did have a good heart, he didn't think that Gertie actually __**liked **__him, like his father and Miles told him._

"_I'm sure you were expecting to see someone else… someone prettier than me, more popular than me…__**someone who isn't one of the boys.**__"_

"_Y-you heard me say that?" Phil asked, taken aback. His jaw dropped in shock. "You heard me say that back when we were in the fourth grade?"_

_Gertie nodded. "I'm sorry, Phil. About everything."_

_She took his hand and led him out to the dance floor, that gentle touch of hers making him feel ecstatic all over again. "Can we start over?" she asked, as she put his hand onto her waist and clasped her own hand in his._

_Phil exhaled, drowning in her lilac perfume, the scent infiltrating his entire being. He stood, rooted to the spot while Gertie swayed to the music awkwardly. He looked at her and noticed she was looking at the floor. Her face was red, and her body shook slightly. She was nervous, but Phil didn't think about that. She was gorgeous, even when she was nervous._

_He remembered all those years ago when he said those cutting remarks about her. He hadn't thought too much about it at the time, but now, looking back, he realized how hurtful they must've sounded… no girl, whether she's a tomboy or not, wants to her that she's like the boys._

_He hurt her feelings that day, and now, he felt horrible for doing it, especially since Gertie was so much more. She was a bright, confident young woman, filled with a certain compassion that defied description, even though she never showed it to others until just recently. She was beautiful, both inside and out._

_Still, Phil couldn't help but reflect on all the times she was mean to him. Though he danced with the woman he was in love with, with the woman he pined for he secret, it was hard to forget all those times she called in Chin Boy and put tacks on his seat. Sometimes, Phil swore his rear end was still sore from all the tacks he sat on._

"_Phil?"_

"_**Yes?"**_

_He knew his voice had an edge to it._

"_You know all those things I did to you back when we were younger? The pranks, getting you into trouble with the teacher, smashing your baseball bat, calling you Chin Boy… I didn't do those things because I hate you."_

"_**Why did you do it then?" **__Phil demanded. "You don't hurt someone because you like him or her," he thought to himself. "What am I __**doing **__here, anyway? I'm spending my last night in Hillwood before I go off to war, where I could possibly be killed, dancing with the girl from grade school who lived to make my life miserable! Sure, I'm in love with her, but I know she doesn't feel the same way about me! Why am I even dancing with her? She's gorgeous, she could be dancing with anyone, so why me? And now she's telling me that she didn't torment me out of spite? Am I going insane?"_

"_I did it because… because I love you, Phil," she answered. "I love you with every fiber of my being. I've loved you ever since we were children… I just… I just don't know how to express myself._

"_I never expected, or planned to fall for you. I just did. I fell for you that day you brought me lunch when I forgot mine… it impressed me that you would be so nice to someone who was mean to you. I was mean to you because I wanted to remain in control… my head told me not to love you, but my heart told me to love you. My heart took over, and I couldn't stop it. My heart wanted you to be with me… it still does, Phil, but I wanted to remain in control."_

_Phil stopped swaying to the music, his jaw hanging open. He was shocked. Gertie was in love with him? She'd loved him all these years? She teased him and got him into all sorts of trouble because she __**loved **__him and wanted to remain in control of her heart? She made his life miserable to defy her feelings for him? He felt his head spinning. It was too much for him to handle. How could someone want to ignore the heart? It was true that Phil loved Gertie and didn't want to admit it, but __**this?**_

_This had to be a dream._

"_I __**must **__be going insane," Phil thought, "Gertie just told me she loved me!"_

_Phil turned to her. "That's obvious," he said, his voice having a certain coldness to it he didn't think it was capable of having."Is it __**normal **__to hurt the ones you love? Did your heart tell me to do all those horrible things to me? Did it, Gertie?" he demanded._

"_No," Gertie admitted, "But it was all I could do." She let him go, her gentle touch leaving his hands and said, "If you don't return my feelings, I understand, but know that when I was mean to you, it was only because I couldn't express myself and tell you that I love you. It was because I wanted control of my heart even though I knew it knew better than I did."_

_She walked off the dance floor and began walking home. Phil watched her as she left the theatre. An overwhelming sadness came over him. He'd done it again, just like in the fourth grade. In the fourth grade, he'd insulted her, but here, he balked at her feelings. He accused her, and her heart, of having ulterior motives. That was much worse than his fourth grade insult._

_He loved Gertie. She loved him too. While his love for her was still growing, she had loved him all these years, and he basically told her to go away with his sharp words and tone. She was a true beauty and a rare find, and Phil knew that he would be lucky if she even so much as looked his way again._

"_Chase after her, Phil," he thought to himself. "Girls like this don't come around that often. You'll regret it if you don't."_

_The next thing he knew, his feet carried him out of the circle theatre, and he found himself screaming after her, though he swore the words never formed in his head or in his mouth._

"_GERTIE! WAIT!"_

"_Gertie," Phil said taking her hands in his. He yearned to feel her touch against his skin. "I'm sorry too."_

"_What for? I was the one who was horrible to you."_

"_I'm sorry I told you I hated you and that I never wanted to see your ugly face again," Phil said, holding her hands tightly. He looked into her green eyes and said, "You're not ugly, Gertie. In fact, I think you're beautiful," he breathed deeply, and he gently held Gertie's chin, tilted her head back and kissed her._

_Finally._

_As he kissed Gertie, he inhaled the lilac scent of her perfume came back to him. A feeling of contentment washed over him as some fireworks exploded over the circle theatre, the quiet awes of the audience around them taking part in the show of red, white and blue. She grabbed his shoulders and held onto him tightly as the fireworks continued and as Dino Spumoni continued singing from inside._

_Phil knew she loved him, and he knew she loved him back._

_When the two of them pulled apart from the other, the smell of Gertie's lilac perfume was now on his suit, mixed just slightly with his cologne. Phil inhaled the scent. He liked it._

"_Can we start over?" Gertie asked, staring at him, her green eyes full of both love and wonder._

"_May I have this dance?"_

_Phil held out his hand to her. Gertie nodded, her eyes sparkling, took his hand, and the two of them walked back into the Circle Theatre to have their first dance, together._

_As they swayed to the music that night, Gertie wrapped her arms around Phil and rested her head against his chest. Phil looked down at her and smiled. He sniffed her hair and breathed. It, too, smelled like lilacs._

_When she looked up, Phil bent down and kissed her._

_He knew he had to make it home._

**XI**

I smile, thinking of yesteryear, and put the dress back, uncovering a picture of Gertie and I with Miles and Mitzi. It's the only picture of the four of us, taken before I left for Europe and before Miles left for the deep Pacific. Gertie and I have our arms around each other, having already declared our love the previous night. To the right of us, Miles and Mitzi have their arms around each other's shoulders, a more friendly gesture suggested by my late friend.

Gertie and I pledged to write each other during the war. I promised her I would return. I had to return to her, knowing I wouldn't be at peace if she wasn't mine.

Miles asked that I come back to Hillwood when the war was over, and I asked the same thing of him. We promised each other that we'd make it through this war in one piece, with our freedoms still intact.

I had no idea that when Miles and I parted for our training camps, that it would be the last time I ever saw him.

During the war, I kept regular correspondences with my parents, Gertie, and Miles. It was so much fun exchanging our war stories with each other, learning of the deep Pacific, and hearing of the troubles Miles ran into along the beaches. I told him the horrors of Hitler's Holocaust and how he was killing innocent people, putting them all in concentration camps, gassing them, and having the Nazis force them on death marches. It made me never take my freedom for granted again.

The day I got the letter from Gertie, informing me of Mile's death in the Battle of Buna-Gona, I nearly lost it. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I simply went through the motions of being a soldier. The enemy seemed stronger and more invincible than ever. Winning the war seemed hopeless, especially without Miles Taylor. That guy could do anything, and he died. I felt so helpless, knowing that he was no longer on this earth, knowing that we longer fought for the same cause – for freedom. Knowing I couldn't have saved him or done anything to prevent his death made me feel helpless. With him being in the Pacific, and me, in Europe, I couldn't have blocked a shot, or kept him out of harm's way. I couldn't rescue him. I couldn't let him live. I couldn't return the favor and do something for him after all the countless things he did for me. I felt guilty. I was broken. If Miles Taylor was dead, I was determined to go down with him.

In the box is an envelope with a letter inside it that I haven't read in years. I don't need to read the letter over and over, because I have it memorized. I take it out and hold it reverently, like a sacred relic. The letter is addressed to me, in Miles' handwriting, but the return address is Miles' old house in Hillwood.

It was an odd occurrence, since the letter came to me some time after Miles' death. At that point, I no longer kept track of the days, weeks, or months. I was simply among a group of soldiers in war, not living, and very much wanting to die. When I open the letter, it all comes back to me, why I'm here, and why I got through a war I lost the will to live through.

**XII**

_Dear Phil,_

_If you're reading this letter right now, chances are that I've been killed in action. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it means that I won't come home, back to Hillwood. I'm sorry it means that we won't see each other again and that the only memories you have of me will be in pictures and the recollections in your mind._

_But that doesn't mean you should give up. It doesn't mean you should lose hope. You have a lot to live for, Phil. You have your parents, you have Gertie, and you have yet to make a reconciliation with your sister Mitzi. You have your whole life ahead of you, where you can be whoever you want to be. You have a whole life ahead with Gertie, with someone who you love, and who loves you for exactly who you are._

_Don't throw that away, Phil._

_Even though I'm no longer here, please know that I am with you and that I am sure we will meet again._

_Your friend,_

_~Miles Taylor~_

**XIII**

Placing the letter back in the envelope, I look at the box to the right of me. The box I am too scared to look through. The box Gertie has opened and closed many times, but the one I refuse to _even look_ at.

Yet, I am drawn to it. I walk to the box and exhale deeply before opening it and sorting through the various mementos of Miles and Stella's lives. I come across a picture of me holding Miles moments after he was born. It's a colored photograph that has faded somewhat, but I love it. I love seeing the look of radiance, of pure joy, on my face. I love that in the picture, I'm gazing down at my son and that his little hand is grabbing my pointer finger. I can see some grey hairs streaked through the dark brown, indicating that I am older than most parents. But I don't care. That was the happiest day of my life, the day I became a father.

**XIV**

_After a quick and easy labor and delivery, Phil held his son for the first time and smiled. During the course of Gertie's pregnancy, the two of them never learned the gender of their child, as they wanted to be surprised. Though this meant buying some clothing in unisex colors and even a few little dresses, both Phil and Gertie hoped the baby was a boy._

_Phil held out his pointer finger while he looked down at his son. Watching with complete awe as his son grabbed his finger with his little hand, he couldn't help it. He was happy. He was finally a father. Phil had a beautiful son, and took part in something wonderful. He helped make someone, a completely separate being from himself. He thought that day would never come._

_Phil looked at his son again and saw Gertie's thick blonde hair and his chin. He couldn't help but feel euphoric as he watched his son open his eyes. They were green like Gertie's._

"_What name were you thinking?" Phil asked as he walked back to Gertie's hospital bed and placed their son in her arms. "I was thinking we could name him…"_

"_Miles Philip Shortman?" Gertie asked._

"_Yeah," Phil answered, smiling. "That's exactly what I was thinking."_

_Phil bent down and kissed Miles gently on the forehead. Their son, Miles Philip Shortman, was named in honor of their late friend who brought them together and risked his life for this freedom… not just the freedom to live in a wonderful country, the freedom to make your own choices, and the freedoms listed in the Constitution… but the freedom to take part in something extraordinary… parenthood._

_The moment was wonderful, surreal, and defining._

_Phil was a father at last._

**XV**

That photograph will always put a smile on my face. I never did regret the decision to name my son after my late friend, but the fact that Gertie and I did so caused the grudge between Mitzi and I to only grow stronger, and it created a rift between the two of them. She found the idea of Gertie and I naming our son after our dear friend, and her "lover" abhorrent. It frustrated me how she looked down on us because of it.

She never met her nephew; and because she never married after Miles Taylor died during the war, she never knew of that joy or agony – the joy of being with someone who loves you for exactly who you are, the joy of parenthood, and the agony of losing a child. I think back to her visit to the boardinghouse. Mitzi and I tried everything to get back at each other. We tried to get through the visit without having to speak to the other person.

But it wasn't possible.

By the end of that visit, Mitzi and I reconciled. We're not best friends and close like we used to be, but our relationship is better, and we still talk on the phone occasionally. She never did get past the fact that Gertie and I named our son after Miles Taylor. Then again, she has often thanked me for giving her a little piece of him when she came to visit.

She was talking about Arnold.

Arnold is so much like my Miles. He's compassionate, a good listener and helper, and has a good heart. He's intelligent, has a calm demeanor, and is wiser beyond his years… just like my Miles. Just like Miles Taylor.

I dig through the box full of Miles and Stella's things and come across Miles' photo albums. Baby pictures, pictures from his childhood – birthday parties, vacations, picnics, the many pets his had during his animal phase, and pictures of him during junior high and high school, surrounded by his friends. I love the picture of him at his college graduation, dressed in his black graduation robe and cap, with Gertie and I standing on either side of him, smiling. I love the pictures of him in San Lorenzo, looking tan and rugged as he makes one discovery after another. I smile when I come across the pictures of him with Stella. The two of them were meant to be and so in love with each other. Their courtship, their marriage, seeing them as parents, was beautiful.

I lay these pictures on the ground and reach for the small, cedar box on the highest shelf of the attic. My secret.

Inside this box is the single dandelion from Gertie that she doesn't know I have. I hold it in my fingers and smile before setting it aside with care, making sure it's protected, like a sacred relic. I look at the pictures in the box, which are of Miles Taylor and I during our childhood. I lay these pictures down next to the pictures of my son. There is a resemblance. I think of Arnold, who emulates his father in personality, and how my son, during his childhood, teenage years, and adulthood, was so much like Miles Taylor, it sometimes frightened me. I look at the pictures and see that there's even a resemblance between Miles Taylor and my son, Miles.

It explains so much, though. It explains why I see Arnold as an extension of his father and my late friend. It explains why my son brought so much joy into my life. It explains why, the day Gertie and I learned that Miles and Stella went missing, why it felt as though I lost him a second time, why the agony of losing my son and daughter-in-law brought so much anguish to my heart, why it shattered, and why it has taken so much time to repair it.

It explains everything.

History _does _repeat itself.

I return everything back to their respective boxes, placing the dandelion from Gertie on top of the pictures of Miles Taylor and I, and walk down the stairs. I see Arnold, sitting in our living room, looking at the photographs from the fishing trip he went on with Mitzi and I.

"Hi, Grandpa," Arnold says, "What were you doing up in the attic?"

"Just reminiscing, Shortman," I answer. When I notice the sunset outside, I ask, "Did you just get home? Why were you out so late?"

"I was walking Helga back to her house, Grandpa," he answers. "It wasn't so bad… she acted kind of normal this time around."

I smile. "I'm glad to hear that, Shortman." I hear a loud thump coming from the kitchen. It must be Gertie again.

"Come, Arnold," Gertie calls, "I need your help practicing for the talent portion of the pageant tonight!"

Arnold and I look at each other, shrug, and walk into the kitchen. We both chuckle as we watch Gertie, her gray hair in a nice bun, wearing a long, elegant purple dress, and crown, attempts to juggle apples and oranges while balancing on her left leg on a large rubber ball.

"Fetch me another orange, Arnold," she says, "I need to be able to juggle twelve apples and oranges if I want to win the Miss America pageant tonight!"

"You go ahead, Grandpa," Arnold says, smiling at me, "I got this under control."

I nod and walk back out to the living room.

Helga Pataki is staring into our window again. I notice her smile as she watches Gertie juggle the apples and oranges on the ball with Arnold sitting on her shoulders, juggling some apples and oranges as well. They have the technique nailed to a science.

When she notices me, she smiles. I smile back and nod.

The understanding is still there.


	3. Pateras

**Chapter III: Pateras**

**I**

I let myself into Gertie's house, knowing that I never need to knock on the door and wait for someone to let me in. Gertie made it clear long ago that I was always welcome into her home. I sit on the couch in the living room and look at my watch. I exhale slowly and can't help but roll my eyes a little bit. Gertie and Mitzi told me that they'd be ready to go by the time I came over, but it's clear they aren't yet… or, Gertie's ready, but is waiting for Mitzi, or Mitzi is trying to "feminize" Gertie before we head out. The three of us are supposed to be at the Circle Theatre right now, dancing to the music of Dino Spumoni and having the time of our lives, celebrating the little time we have left before our lives change forever.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, nothing will ever be the same again. Tomorrow, Phil and I will head to our respective training camps that will prepare us for combat. I'll head to the deep Pacific, and Phil will go to Europe to fight against the Nazi forces. We're both putting our lives on the line to ensure not just our freedoms, but also the freedoms of those we love. We're doing this, knowing that we might never return to Hillwood in one piece. Phil and I know there's the possibility that we won't return to Hillwood alive, and that instead, we might come home in a wooden, makeshift casket with an American flag draped over it… that is, if our fellow soldiers will be able to find us. Tomorrow, Phil and I head off to war, knowing this, but at the same time, knowing that our freedom is too important to _not _fight for it.

Gertie, bless her heart, put everything on hold for the war effort. She's not going into combat like Phil and I are; rather, she's enlisted as a nurse and will tend to wounded soldiers. She'll do a great job at it, since her compassion goes beyond human boundaries.

I glance at my watch again. I assume Mitzi's the one holding us all up. I hope she'll do more than just pine for me when I'm gone. I suggested to her that she enlist as a nurse like Gertie, but she declined, claiming that she can't stand the sight of blood.

"Are the two of you almost ready?" I holler. "The dance has probably started by now!"

"Hold on!" Mitzi exclaims loudly, "I'm trying to get some lipstick on Gertie!"

Shaking my head, I can't help but laugh – leave it to Mitzi to try and get Gertie all dolled up. Gertie has a heart of gold, but she draws the line at having Mitzi try to get her made up. She'll put on a fight that will take a while. Still sitting on the couch, I reach into my coat pocket and take out the letter I began writing before heading over to Gertie's house. The paper is thick and heavy, and I got it from the deep, burgundy and accented with faded, golden swirls, stationery box that's been in my family for generations. The box is worn around the edges, its corners, bent in somewhat and ca be pulled back, nearly ripping it, but it is a prized treasure that has always resided on the end table in the living room of my house. My mother uses it to write letters to her family and dearest friends, and always encouraged me to do the same. Up until now, however, I never found a reason to do so.

Unfolding the paper that I got out of my coat pocket, I reach inside my pocket again and take out my late grandfather's blood red pen, the very writing utensil that I began writing the letter with. I smooth the letter, placing it against my legs, and resume writing the letter.

As I write, I hope that Phil will never have to read the words I'm writing to him.

I'm so absorbed in what I'm writing, in the words that I'm pouring out for Phil to read just in case I don't make it back, that I don't even notice Gertie enter the room until she acknowledges me.

"_Miles? What are you doing?"_ she asks, a perplexed look upon her face.

I jump slightly and look up. It's Gertie, looking not at all like her tomboyish self. She's in a lavender dress that accentuates her voluptuous figure and hangs in all the right places. Her thick blonde hair is loose, curled, and so different from the loose bun in which it's usually kept. Her black high heels are polished, ready for dancing, and she wears lipstick and a little bit of blush.

I see her and know that Phil will regret it if he doesn't claim her as his own.

"You look amazing," I tell her, as I fold up the letter and place it back into my coat pocket, along with the pen.

Gertie sits next to me and looks at me with her green eyes. "You didn't answer my question," she says, looking at my coat pocket, where the letter and the pen are kept. "What was that letter you're writing?"

"Nothing," I answer casually, "Just something I was working on while waiting for you and Mitzi." I look at my watch and ask, "How much longer will Mitzi be? The night isn't going to last very long."

I doubt Phil's patience will last for very long if he ends up at the dance before we do.

"She's curling her hair right now," Gertie tells me. "As if it needs anymore of it from when I saw it right before coming out here."

I laugh deeply before looking at Gertie again. "It looks like she beat you to making sure you had lipstick on."

"You know how Mitzi is," Gertie says, rolling her eyes. Ignoring my previous statement, she remarks, "She always takes forever to get ready, even if it's just to the supermarket."

"True," I shrug. "She's quite the piece of work, isn't she?"

"You were the one who accepted her offer to go to the dance!" Gertie says, throwing a pillow at me.

I catch the pillow and retort, _"I'm too much of a gentleman to say no."_ I wink at Gertie playfully and begin twirling it atop my pointer finger.

"That you are," Gertie muses. I notice her staring down at my coat pocket again, as though she's trying to see inside of it. "Miles," she says gravely, "What was the letter you're writing? Please be serious with me this time."

I put the pillow down and sigh. "It's a letter to Phil," I answer. "That's all."

"It's more than that," Gertie says, looking at me with a stony expression on her face. "Please tell me the truth, Miles," she begs. "You know you can tell me _anything._"

This is true. Gertie and I have always been the best of friends, always able to rely on one another. I sigh and reach for the letter inside my coat pocket, unfolding the letter, then giving it to her. As she begins reading over the letter, her face goes pale. She turns to me, horrified. Before she can continue reading, I snatch the letter away from her, fold it quickly, and put it into my back pocket clumsily before sitting down again.

After I sit down, Gertie shoots daggers at me with those green eyes of hers. I insist the urge to look away and tell her, "This is just in case, Gertie."

"Miles Taylor, this is absurd," she snaps._"You're going to make it home, Miles. What makes you think you __**aren't?**__"_

"_Nothing's_ certain anymore, Gertie," I reply. "To be honest, I'm scared about what's going to happen. My parents are a nervous wreck and my mother treats me like I'm fragile. She's not happy about this _at all,_ Gertie."

"Of course she's not," Gertie says, "You're her baby, her only child. She doesn't want to lose you."

I run a hand through my hair and sigh. "I know, but if we want our freedom, Gertie, than we have to fight for it. I'm willing to pay that price if I have to, but… I do want to make it home."

"And you will," Gertie assures me, placing her hand onto my shoulder. "Why are you doing this? This letter?"

"It's just in case I don't come home the way I plan to," I answer. "I just want Phil to know that even if I don't make it back, that it doesn't mean he should go down with me because there's too much at stake if he does."

"Like what?" Gertie inquires.

"_You."_

Gertie's green eyes stare into my own amber ones, but she doesn't say anything. She just keeps staring at me as the color continues draining from her face, until she is completely pale. She turns away from me for a moment and brings her hands to her face. When she turns to face me again, I notice her eyes are red and that there are tearstains upon her cheeks.

She gives a ragged breath and says, "Mitzi won't be too thrilled about having to redo my blush."

"Who cares what she thinks?" I ask her. "There are more important things in life… like the fact that this world is at war and that Phil and I are off to fight in it. There's also the fact that you love Phil and don't want to lose him." I give her a friendly hug and say, "I know he means the world to you, Gertie."

She nods and wipes away her tears.

"You have to tell him tonight how you really feel."

"I know," Gertie laments, "But what if he doesn't feel the same way?"

"He doesn't hate you, Gertie," I tell her, "He thinks very highly of you."

"Does he love me?" she asks. At that moment, I see a hopeful glint in her eyes, that optimism she always has, that's been absent up until now.

"That's not for me to say," I respond. "That's for him to tell you. But I know this, Gertie. I know that if he passes you up tonight, that he'll regret it for the rest of his life."

"Do you really think so?" she asks.

"I _know_ so," I answer, "You're beautiful, inside and out. You're one of the kindest people I've ever met. You were a bully when we were younger, but you grew up. And you were only a bully,_especially_ to Phil, because of your insecurities."

"_You saw right through me from the beginning, didn't you?"_ she asks bitterly. _"You can see through __**everyone **__in this damn city, Miles!"_

I look at my watch again. "Go get Mitzi," I tell her. "I don't care if she's only half-dressed. We're going to that dance now, or else both you and Phil might miss the only chance the two of you have."

She gets up from the couch and looks at me. "What if this all goes wrong?"

"It won't. Just do the one thing you've been afraid to do all these years."

"What's that?"

"Trust your heart, Gertie."

**II**

At the dance, Mitzi is frustrated with me for dragging her out the door before she could give her hair the "right amount" of curl. I look at her and wonder how much curl she actually wanted, because she looks utterly ridiculous.

Nevertheless, I put on a smile and agree to dance circles around the theatre with her, never once stopping for a break. Still, I keep my eye on Gertie and reassure her the best I possibly can. It's not easy with Mitzi all over me, but I do try.

"_Miles Taylor!"_ Mitzi reprimands me, "_Your left hand __**isn't **__on my __**waist.**__"_She takes my hand viciously and forces it onto her behind.

"That's not appropriate, Mitzi," I tell her, taking my hand and putting it onto her _actual_ waist, where it belongs. "I _know_ the difference between your _waist_ and your _behind._"

We resume dancing, and I try to keep our conversations limited to small talk, but Mitzi makes it a real chore, especially since she notices my eyes wandering toward Gertie.

"Why are you looking at _her?_" she demands rudely. "You're _my_ date!"

I ignore Mitzi and turn my attention to the theatre entrance.

When Phil enters the theatre, scanning the dance hall for Gertie, my breath catches in my throat. I sigh deeply, hoping this goes well, hoping that he'll give Gertie a chance, hoping that he'll know how she truly feels about him, hoping that he'll find it in himself to be honest with himself as well as Gertie, hoping that Phil and Gertie will finally face each other, forsake the world, and actually love each other.

Gertie stands in the middle of the theatre, her back to me. When Phil sees his date, the beautiful young woman in the lavender dress, he stops. His mouth hangs open in shock, and he runs from the theatre.

"_Oh no…_

"_Don't stand there, Gertie,"_ I think to myself. _"Follow your heart. Chase after him. This is __**your **__moment. __**This is the time. **__You'll wish you did if you don't do so now."_

Gertie runs out of the theatre.

"_Please come back in."_

Relief washes over me as I watch the two of them walk onto the dance floor together. Gertie takes Phil's hand and intertwines it with her own, placing the other one onto her waist. She sways to the music, but Phil stays put… just like Mitzi and I. When she throws herself onto me, I have to separate the two of us. My patience with Mitzi is wearing thin, and now I find myself more interested in Miles and Gertie, and the fact that I want them to leave the dance, together, and in love.

"_This has to work out. __**Please **__let it work out."_

I watch as Phil remains rooted to the spot as Gertie tries to initiate the dance. It isn't until Phil reluctantly joins her that my smile is truly genuine.

"_Finally,"_ I think to myself, _"They're __**finally **__facing each other after all these years."_I even laugh as Phil glares at me from across the dance floor. _"This is just __**too perfect**__,"_ I think to myself, _"They'll have__to confess how they feel about each other tonight."_

Mitzi smile smugly when she notices my smile. Her hands slide slowly down my back and I find myself placing them back into the proper dancing position before we resume dancing.

Looking over Mitzi's shoulder, I watch as Phil and Gertie converse while they dance. When an expression of shock creeps upon Phil's face, his mouth, falling ajar, I know what has just occurred. Gertie just followed her heart, confessing everything to Phil in the process. Gertie hangs her head in shame.

"_No… please. No…"_

"_Why have we stopped dancing?"_ Mitzi inquires angrily. _"It wasn't because you weren't watching __**the two of them, **__were you?"_

"Sorry," I reply shaking my head in an attempt to clear it, "Can we take a break for a while?" Mitzi rolls her eyes and leads me off the dance floor, ensuring that her grip on my hand is tight and one from which I can't easily get out of. When I turn around and face the dance floor again, I notice Gertie walking out of the theatre as Phil watches her step out of his life. I know she told him everything. Did he say anything to her? He didn't say anything to hurt her, did he? No. He couldn't have. Phil is much better than that. My head begins spinning at the numerous possibilities. I just hope it doesn't end in disaster.

My thoughts turn toward my friend. _"Please don't blow this Phil,"_ I think, _"Please don't."_

He stays rooted to the spot.

"_Chase after her Phil. If you don't you'll regret it for the rest of your life."_

When I notice Phil running out of the Circle Theatre, I excuse myself, forcing it out of Mitzi's hard grasp, and walk to the theatre exit, where I can have a clear view of everything. Peering into the distance, I see Phil and Gertie standing across from each other, their mouths moving only slightly. He caresses her chin gently, tilts her head back and kisses her. She grabs onto him and returns the kiss. The two stand, intertwined, for what seems like forever as a display of red, white, and blue fireworks illuminates the sky. When they separate, the two smile at each other, and I run back to Mitzi so the two won't see me watching them.

When I get back to Mitzi, I put on a smiling face and share one last dance with her, but all I can watch is Phil and Gertie dancing together, their arms wrapped around the other person, unable to take their eyes off each other.

When they kiss, for the second time, I feel content.

The dance is much better now that the two of them are together.

Tomorrow, our lives will change forever.

But Phil and Gertie, two seemingly ordinary people confessing their love for the other person forever changed the world.

**III**

After walking Mitzi home and letting myself into the house, I see the old stationery box still on the end table. Reaching into my back pocket, I get out the letter I started for Phil. I unfold the letter and sit on the couch, reaching into my coat pocket to get out my late grandfather's pen. Before I resume writing, I open the stationery box and take out an envelope, which is thick and heavy just like the paper I'm using to write the letter. When I finish the letter, I open the envelope and place the letter to Phil inside it. Sealing the envelope, I take out two more pieces of the heavy paper and look at my watch. It is one-thirty in the morning, but my work is not yet done. During the early hours of the morning, I write letters to my mother and father, in case I don't make it home alive. When the letters to my parents are sealed, I take out a solitary sheet of paper and write the following requests:

_~ Make sure, no matter the cost, that Phil receives the letter I've written to him._

_~Have my mother and father read the two letters. Tell them that it's okay to continue living and embracing life._

_~When I was a child, my mother told me that upon her death that the stationery box is to go to me. Rather, donate the box, as well as all my possessions, to charity._

_This is just in case I don't make it home alive._

When I'm finish, I seal the envelope and write _The Last Will and Testament of Miles Taylor_ upon it.

Just in case.

**IV**

Never before have I seen City Hall so crowded in my life. Soldiers, all wearing the same, brown suit as I am hug and kiss their family and friends goodbye. I turn to my parents, who are both crying. It sets me back a little, seeing my father with tears in his eyes, and my mother, clutching a handkerchief, twisting it in her hands, hoping she won't have to use it, but to no avail. She keeps wiping her eyes with it as she lets out loud, inconsolable sobs. She never liked the idea of me enlisting in this war, but I didn't do it for the glory. This is for my family, friends, and country. This is for our freedom. I stare at my parents again, their amber eyes looking straight into my own. My mother approaches me, touches my suit, which she ironed this morning with care, and hugs me tightly.

"Please… please…" She can't finish what she's saying, and breaks down again.

"It's okay, Mom," I assure her, hugging her back. "I'll write home, I'll call you everyday at the training camp. I'll be back."

When my mother finally releases her vice-like grip on me, my father reaches over and hugs me.

"I'm so proud of you," he trembles. "Please come back."

"I will, Dad," I assure him.

When he releases me, I nod and walk down the steps of City Hall, scanning my eyes for Phil and Gertie, but I cannot see them. When I finally get down all the steps, I find myself surrounded by fellow soldiers, all of us a sea of brown. Many of their family members and friends have already left, but when I look toward City Hall, my parents are still standing on the steps, waiting until it's officially time for me to leave. I smile and turn my attention back toward the crowd. I press on, bumping into my fellow soldiers until I see them.

When I do, I smile. He wears the same brown suit as I, and his arms are around a young woman with curled blonde hair, sporting a red dress. It is Phil and Gertie.

"Hey lovebirds."

Phil and Gertie turn. They smile, their eyes sparkling, their cheeks flushed.

"It's good to see the two of you together," I tell them, grinning. I look at them, holding hands, unable to take their sparkling eyes off each other. _"So this is love,"_ I think, as I watch them smile at each other.

Gertie hugs me close to her and says, "Thank you for everything you've done…. and _please,_ for the love of all things holy, _be careful_ out there!"

"I will," I promise. When Gertie and I separate, I turn to Phil. Holding my hand out to him, we shake before embracing each other. "Promise me you'll make it back to Hillwood," I say firmly, "_Promise me."_

My thoughts return as Phil and I still embrace. _"You __**have **__to make it home. You __**must. **__There's too much at stake if you don't."_

"I promise," Phil answers into my shoulder. When we let go, he says, "You come home too, okay?"

He breaks down and I hug him again.

Surviving this war is going to be harder than I _ever_ anticipated.

After turning away from Phil, I see Mitzi, a nervous wreck, standing behind him and Gertie. I sigh, knowing that I have to face her. I wish she wasn't in love with me. I can't give her what she wants. I don't love her the way she wants me to. I'll always cherish our friendship, no matter how strained it is, but I've never felt any romantic inclinations toward her. I can't picture myself marrying her, having children together, and growing old with each other. I can't see myself spending the rest of my life with her. As I approach her, her entire face lights up, and I hate that I have to do this.

"Mitzi," I say, taking her hands, "This isn't going to work out. We're not Phil and Gertie."

She frowns at me and looks to where Phil and Gertie stand off to the side, still wrapped in a tight embrace. Phil kisses Gertie's cheek and she plays with his hair. Rolling her eyes, Mitzi says defiantly, "_We could be._ We could _love_ each other, Miles. You could come back home, we'd get married, have a beautiful family," she says wistfully, raising my right arm and twirling herself underneath it, "And live happily ever after."

"Mitzi, no," I tell her, releasing her hands. "I don't want you pining after me while I'm gone. You have so much you could be doing as opposed to waiting for someone who doesn't return your feelings."

"Like what?"

"Helping with the war effort or attending university, to name a few," I answer. "You could write to Phil. I'm sure he'd like some encouragement while he's off braving the Nazis."

"_Write to __**Phil?**__"_ Mitzi snarls, appalled that I would even suggest such a thing, _"Why would I want to write to __**him!**__"_

"_The death of your pet dog was __**an accident, **__Mitzi,"_ I inform her, for the hundredth time. _"Can't you get over that? __**Are you even capable of comprehending the sacrifice your brother is making?**__He's sacrificing his chance to finish his education, his future, __**his life, **__all for preserving __**your **__freedom, and you're not going to write to him? Not even a quick hello just to see if he's okay?"_

"_No,"_ Mitzi says stubbornly, folding her arms and turning her face up in the air, away from mine.

My mouth hangs open in shock as I look at Mitzi, who now refuses to look at me due to the suggestion I just made.

I find her immaturity appalling.

"Mitzi," I plead with her, "Your brother might not make it out of this war alive."

"_In case you haven't noticed,"_Mitzi sneers, turning back toward me, _"He isn't making __**any **__effort to speak with me, either."_

"True," I say, "And he's wrong on that account, too. I've told him that he needs to reconcile with you. You're not the exception, Mitzi, and neither is he."

She grabs my hands and kisses my knuckles. "I don't care what you say, Miles Taylor," she informs me, "I love you and I'll wait for you to come home alive. I'll write you and do _nothing_ else."

"Mitzi…" She's trying to make us into something we're not. "You deserve better than this," I inform her, wrestling my hands from her grip.

"But _you're_ the best thing I got," she says, grabbing my shoulders and forcefully kissing me on the lips, her teeth nearly gnashing into mine.

I pull away from her. _**"Stop it, Mitzi,"**_ I say darkly. _**"Stop." **_I turn around and begin walking back up the steps to say goodbye to my parents.

"_Miles! Please!"_ she shouts. She catches up to me and hugs me close to her again. _**"Please,"**_ she begs. "Will you write to me?"

"Maybe," I reply, releasing myself from her embrace. I look at my parents, not bothering to look back at Mitzi. When I don't turn around, she knows to leave.

"Mom, Dad…" I put my arms around them. "I love you."

Mom kisses me on the cheek and whispers, "Come home soon," into my ear.

"Fight hard, Son," Dad tells me. "Don't give up, no matter what."

"I won't," I assure him. I hug my parents for the final time and run down the steps again, indicating for them to come with me. When I get down the steps, I spot Phil, Gertie, and Mitzi, and get the three of them together for a picture.

"Dad, will you take it?" I ask. He nods, and he snaps four pictures, one for each of us.

"Thanks," I smile. I look at my mom and notice that she's crying again. "Mom, if you want to leave, I won't be mad at you," I say gently, getting the feeling that she doesn't actually want to see me take off.

She nods and hugs me again. "Goodbye," she tells me. When she releases me, I watch as she and Dad link their arms together and walk away.

"Goodbye," I call out, waving my hand to them walking away.

Turning around, I face Phil, Gertie, and Mitzi again.

"This is it, isn't it?" Gertie asks. "Everything changes forever now."

"Not everything," I respond. "The world changed forever last night when the two of you finally got together." Gertie smiles and laughs with me. For a few moments longer, life is simple again.

"_**Soldiers! Your rides are here! Please assemble to where the cars will take you to your designated training camps!"**_

The voice jolts us back to reality. I go to Mitzi and put my hand on her shoulder. "I'll write if I can," I reassure her. I'll try."

Phil and I begin walking to the cars, but then Phil turns around and runs back to Gertie. I watch as he gives her a tender kiss on the cheek and caresses her face.

"_**I promise to come home."**_

**V**

The sweltering, oppressive air leaves me lightheaded as I continue walking through the lush, dense jungle with my fellow soldiers. Stopping for a few, quick moments to catch my breath and regain focus, I breathe deeply and wipe the sweat from my forehead with my free hand. Despite my training, I feel unprepared while marching. We already ran out of food and supplies once while hiking through the treacherous Kapa Kapa Trail, where many of the soldiers I started my training camps with perished from dengue fever, dysentery, heat exhaustion, malaria, and malnutrition. Still at the tree, I bend down and exhale again, panting slightly. I'm surprised I'm still alive. While hiking along the Kapa Kapa Trial, I went without food and lost so much weight that now my clothes need to be held up with makeshift belts made of old cloth. Despite this, I can still see my ribcage slightly through the caked dirt on my skin.

"_**TAYLOR!"**_

I look up and see the head of my battalion glaring at me. **"**_**Hurry up, Taylor! This is no time to stop marching! Let's go**_**!"**

I nod and begin walking after running a hand through my hair, now caked with grease, mud, and the occasional jungle plant. When I finish scratching my head, I bring my hand to my face, and bring my other one right up next to it, and notice that my skin does not look the same it did before I went to war. While hiking through the Kapa Kapa Trail, chiggers, fleas, sand flies, mosquitoes, and leeches attacked every inch of exposed skin, leaving it bruised, bumpy, rough, and scarred. When the leeches came onto every inch of my body, I bled for days, and sometimes the open wounds will start again. Despite restocking at Natunga, we are, yet again, running low on medicine, weapons, and food. This explains why some of my wounds still bleed. It explains why many have perished. More die each day, and sometimes I wonder if I'm going to be next. I exhale again and resume the march even though I feel like I'm going to faint. Looking back at the trail, it still amazes me that I've made it this far, especially after climbing the dangerously sharp, intense ridges that either had to be scaled on hands and knees, by swinging down the ridges by vines, or hacking at the tough rock with an axe and machete. Along with the rest of my battalion, I had to climb the ridge a second time when we lost our footing. Climbing the ridges gave me scars and bruises all over my body that I swear will never heal.

As I continue marching, I touch my pockets with reverence, where I keep my letters. Mitzi writes me constantly, and I learned from the beginning to not read her letters aloud. They're embarrassing. I love the letters from Mom and Dad best, with Phil following in a close second. Mom and Dad offer their encouragement and love, and Phil's helped me get through this war with his good-natured humor. Gertie's written to me also, and always remains hopeful and optimistic. I smile when I think about the two of them… they're soulmates. When writing, my priority always falls with Mom and Dad, and then I write to Phil. Occasionally, I'll send a letter to Gertie, and seldom, to Mitzi. I wish she'd do more with her life than just wait for me to come home. She knows we'll never be Phil and Gertie, yet she tries to force it. I hate that.

I stop walking when I notice the soldiers all around me stopping. I cry out, exhausted, and fall to the ground, landing on my hands and knees. Coughing and shivering, I vomit onto the dense, jungle earth. Panting, I get up slowly, my entire body shaking. I ache all over, but I must press on.

"Soldiers, we have been asked to the front lines of Buna-Gona," informs the head of the battalion. "We didn't find any of the yellow skins on our trek throughout the jungle, so it's safe to say that they're in Buna-Gona, where their main beachheads are located, waiting to attack. We won't let that happen. Once we reach Buna-Gona, we'll attack with what we have."

I look down. I only have my gun and my machete, and I'm low on bullets. Still, we've been asked to fight.

Upon reaching Buna-Gona, I find that along with my fellow soldiers, that I am unprepared to fight this battle. The Japanese are well prepared, with adequate shelter and supplies. We have nothing.

Nothing.

**VI**

The days feel like weeks and the weeks feel like days. I have no idea what day or month it is. I run. I shoot. I hide. I fall. I faint. I black out for what seems like an eternity, only to wake up with my face in the mud, being forced to get up and continue the fight. There is no time to write letters to Mom, Dad, Phil, or Gertie. I realize that Mitzi no longer occupies my thoughts. My only focus is on staying alive, winning the battle, winning the war, and making it home alive. The head of my battalion died long ago after a few shots to the skull. When the additional artillery arrives, along with the mortars and brand new machine guns, I hope this means the battle will end. When I hear the planes overhead dropping bombs onto the Japanese, I pray this means we will leave Buna-Gona soon… perhaps get onto a navy boat, have a proper meal, shower. I shake my head and stop dreaming. I do what I am told and continue fighting.

I'm going to make it through this. I have to. I must keep my promise to Phil and return to Hillwood alive. My parents will not have to send that letter to him. They will not read the ones I wrote to them. When I come home, everything I own will still be there. The stationery box will still be there.

It will. I am sure of it.

When I come home, I'll witness Phil and Gertie begin a beautiful life together. I'll finish my education. I'll find the right person – someone who's _not_ Mitzi, and marry her. We'll have a wonderful, blissful life together.

I am certain these things will happen.

Until I find myself falling and seeing all black again.

When I come to, my head feels heavy and I cannot lift it. I feel the blood all around me, and I feel it flooding my mouth. I look and still see pandemonium everywhere, and I cannot stop it. I cannot move at all.

I'm approaching the end and I know it as the world around me grows blurry, more dimmed - I'm not sure if it's the blood that's making it that way or the tears. The color around me fades, and I find myself breathing. Faster. Faster. Faster. I breathe. Heavier. Heavier. Heavier.

The end is near, and I'm so unprepared.

I shut my eyes tight and try to open them again.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I gurgle slowly. Blood falls out the sides of my mouth and falls down my face, staining my cheeks and neck. "I'm… I'm sorry I won't come home. I'm sorry you'll have to bury your only child I'm sorry you'll have to read the letter I wrote you, along with my last will and testament. I'm sorry you'll have to break the news to everyone and send that letter to Phil."

I try to breathe again, but the blood in my mouth makes it hard as it spills out of me.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I fought. I fought the good fight, I kept the faith, but it hasn't done anything. I know you aren't much of a reader, and I'm sorry that now you'll have to read your letter. I'm sorry that you'll have to determine who gets what.

"I'm sorry, Phil. I'm sorry I won't make it back to Hillwood alive. I'm sorry I broke that promise."

The blood continues falling out of my mouth. I cannot stop it, and I cannot stop my eyes from growing heavier and heavier until they shut completely.

"Promise me you'll make it back, Phil. I'm sorry I won't.

"I'm sorry Gertie that I'll never see you and Phil lead a beautiful life together.

"I'm sorry Mitzi that I can't be who you want me to be.

"I'm sorry, everyone."

My breath quickens, then slows, and I feel them getting few and far between.

I'm sorry…

**VII**

"I'm sorry…

"I'm sorry…

"I'm… _**SORRY!**_"

"_Miles!"_

My eyes snap open and I realize where I am. I'm slumped over, my clothes, skin, and hair caked with dirt. My wife, Stella, holds me and rubs my back as she waits for my breath to even out and for me to calm down.

Why have these horrible dreams tormented me? Dreams of being in war in a land more foreign than San Lorenzo, of being in endless combat and doing everything I can to stay alive, only to die again? Why do I dream of being surrounded by nothing but weaponry, gunshots, and bloodshed? Why is it that when I wake up from these dreams, death fills my nostrils?

"Bad dream?"

I nod, panting. "Stella," I exhale, "We've got to get out of here."

She nods sadly. "What are we supposed to do, Miles? La Sombra is constantly on our tail. He kept us imprisoned and nearly killed us! We're lucky we escaped unscathed…"

"Not _completely_ unscathed," I tell her.

We're far from intact. We've been battered and bruised physically as well as emotionally. There are parts of this trip that I don't even remember. Before Stella and I could even _go_ to San Lorenzo, we had to find all the ingredients to make the antidote for the sleeping sickness. We hoped that what we made the first time would be enough, but as we approached the grounds for where we placed the medicine for the Green Eyed People to claim, we weren't so sure. Dead butterflies were all around us, and we watched as many of them fell dead from the sky, all at once. The epidemic was much worse than either of us had anticipated.

**VIII**

"_We need to make more," Stella said, frantically, searching for any extra ingredients inside the hut. Miles nodded, but inside, his heart wrenched despairingly. The trip was only supposed to be a week long, and he wanted to return to Arnold, his precious son, to Hillwood, to his previous, less complicated life so badly… but he knew that he and Stella were the only ones who had the trust of the Green Eyed People. They needed more medicine, and he and Stella would be the ones to bring it to them. The Green Eyes did so much for them over the years, and Miles and Stella didn't want to see these people die out forever when they knew how to cure them._

_It was while they gathered the ingredients in bulk that their prolonged stay in San Lorenzo began. Miles wrote a letter to his parents, telling them that they'd be staying longer in San Lorenzo than he and Stella anticipated. He promised to write again when they were on their way home. Shortly after sending the letter, Miles developed a high fever, sore throat, headaches, double vision, and exhaustion. He found himself blacking out at random points throughout the days and evenings. He caught the dreaded sickness that was killing the Green Eyed People._

_That was when the dreams started, and they have not left since._

_When Miles came to again, he had no idea how long he'd been out for, or where he was. The ingredients for the antidote were sparse and hard to find, even though he and Stella gathered them in bulk to make additional servings. Before Miles found himself in a prolonged sleep, he told Stella to bring the medicine to the Green Eyes first before tending to him. She fought it, but he insisted, since they came for the Green Eyes and not for themselves._

_Unbeknownst to Miles, while he'd been in his extended sleep, with the dreams of carnage and death torturing his mind, Stella brought him to the Green Eyes, where he remained with those who'd been afflicted by the illness. When he came to, he found the Green Eyed People cured, healthy, and more prosperous than ever. Miles eagerly crawled out of bed, ready to leave, ready for the horrible dreams to be out of his mind, ready to see his son again. He ran to Stella and asked when they'd be leaving._

"_I don't know, Miles," she said sadly._

"_What!" he exclaimed. "Why do you say that?"_

_Stella took his hands and said, "While you were out sick, a political uprising started in the cities of San Lorenzo. Revolutionaries are trying to overthrow the government. People are dying everyday in the streets – there's fires, mobs, complete and utter chaos… we're only safe now because we're in the jungle, which is far from the cities."_

"_How do you know this?"_

"_I witnessed it when looking for the extra ingredients," she replied. "It's dangerous out there, Miles."_

"_But you made it back here alive!" I said._

"_I almost didn't, Miles," Stella said. "When I was airborne, coming back to make more of the medicine, someone set fire to my plane... just whizzed by me and threw a firebomb at it. I parachuted out and fell into another part of the jungle, far from where we are now. Some of the Green Eyes who weren't afflicted with the sleeping sickness rescued me. I was out for a few days, and our plane burned to a crisp, Miles."_

"_Who would do that to you?" Miles demanded, angry._

"_I think it was La Sombra, Miles," Stella replied. "He vowed to get revenge on us when we brought La Corazon back to the Green Eyed People. I have the feeling that he might be the one behind all the uprisings, too. Everything's changed, Miles – commercial flights aren't flying out of here, the post offices were burned down long ago, so we can't communicate with anyone…__**nobody's **__allowed to leave the country. We're only safe if we stay here."_

"_Hasn't anyone tried to help?" Miles asked. "I can't imagine other countries just watching as San Lorenzo just falls to a ruthless river pirate, of all things."_

"_Help has arrived, but it's not doing a whole lot, Miles," she told me. "Some of the aid workers have died."_

"_But we __**have **__to go back," Miles told her, holding tightly onto her hands. "We have to get back to Arnold and to our lives. __**I don't care **__what the cost is, Stella. We're going back to Hillwood. We're going back to our son."_

_She nodded. "It's not going to be easy, Miles…" fresh tears fell from her eyes. "But I want to see my son."_

**IX**

We made our plans and arranged to leave the next morning. We planned to sneak into the city, disguised, get the attention of an aid worker, and leave San Lorenzo that way. It was risky, but we wanted to get back home, and we refused to just stay in the jungle while Arnold and my parents waited for an answer that might never reach them. It was odd, being in the actual cities of San Lorenzo, and everything was in turmoil. People died in the streets, houses were on fire, fights broke out constantly, and the help and order the aid workers attempted to give were in vain. But we pressed on, hoping to find someone who could somehow help us out of here.

Instead, La Sombra caught us.

**X**

_The river pirate bound and gagged Miles and Stella and led them to a cave beneath the earth. He had to admit that the young, adventurous, life-saving couple put on a good fight. Of course, they knew where La Corazon was, and once he had it, all power would be his. Taking over all of San Lorenzo wasn't enough – he __**wanted, **__and __**needed **__the wealth as well._

_He nodded to his henchmen. They threw Miles and Stella onto the ground harshly and walked toward the young man, giving him several, rough kicks in the ribs._

"_Well, well, well," La Sombra snarled evilly, "If it isn't Miles and Stella, the saviors of the Green Eyes." He walked toward them and spit in each of their faces. "He bent down and peered menacingly into Stella's green eyes. "In case you were wondering, __**I **__was the one who threw the firebomb at your plane. __**Such a pity you didn't go down with it."**_

_Miles glared at the horrible river pirate from where he lied down, tied up, unable to move or say anything. "And you, Miles! Why, you probably thought in your arrogance that those poor disguises __would be enough to get you out of San Lorenzo." La Sombra spat in his face also and kicked him. "Well, have I got some news for the both of you – I'm head of this country now. __**I don't care about the turmoil, the endless deaths, the fights, as long as I get what I want. Nobody gets out of here without paying a price,"**__he smirked, rubbing his hands together. "I understand the two of you are parents? Word has it that you have a sweet little boy at home waiting for your return." He bent down and looked at both Miles and Stella. "I'll tell you what. You get me La Corazon, and I'll let you go free. Get me the sacred relic of the Green Eyed People, make me the __**richest **__man in all the world, and I'll make sure you go home in one piece. I'll make sure you see your little boy again. __**After all, don't you want him to grow up with his mommy and daddy in his life?"**_

_Miles and Stella looked at each other sadly. They wanted to go home to Arnold, but could they betray their friends?_

"_Until you make your decision," La Sombra said darkly, "I'm going to have some __**fun **__with the two of you." He snapped his fingers and pointed to Miles. One of his henchmen untied Miles and released the gag from his mouth, but kept his hands behind his back. La Sombra nodded, and pointed to the wall, where there were shackles both at the top and the bottom. The henchman pushed Miles against the cave wall, chaining his wrists and ankles inside the shackles, and then proceeded to rip the back of his shirt. La Sombra snapped his fingers again. Another one of his henchmen brought him his whip, one of his most prized objects._

_Looking at Stella, still a mess on the ground, and at Miles, up against the wall, La Sombra smiled. The torture he and his henchmen inflicted on them on the way to the cave, ensuring that they'd be too helpless to fight, wasn't as much fun as __**this **__would be._

"_We'll play this game until you cave in," La Sombra sang, his voice slick and slimy. "If you don't cave in, I win and you lose. If you cave in, it's a tie. I get La Corazon, and you get your precious baby boy back, but at the price of betraying your friends. This will be fun!"_

_He raised his whip in excitement._

**XI**

I groan as Stella rubs my back. Though I'm sure the bruises and scars from the whipping, the kicking, the punching, among other forms of abuse, are mostly gone from my body, it still hurts to move at times. On occasion, my entire body hurts, and I feel as though I'm going to die. I have no idea how much time has passed or how long Stella and I have been in hiding. We refused to return La Corazon to him, and as punishment, he kept us imprisoned, inflicted endless torture, on us, and finally, when he had enough of us not surrendering to him, he planned to kill us.

**XII**

"_**I've had enough of the two of you,"**__La Sombra sneered, placing one gun on Miles' forehead, and the other gun inside Stella's mouth as La Sombra's henchmen shackled them to the wall. "I'm sick of waiting for the two of you to give up and surrender, of waiting for La Corazon, the very artifact that should be __**mine.**__"_

_He clicked both the guns, but they didn't go off. Miles gulped in despair as sweat dripped down his face, onto his mouth, and then, onto the ground, where it dried quickly. La Sombra was playing Russian roulette with them, and he was having fun doing it._

"_What's your little boy's name, Miles?" La Sombra asked snidely, "Do you think he's proud that you wouldn't betray your friends, the precious Green Eyed People? Do you think he's happy that his parents wouldn't give La Corazon to me, knowing that it was the __**only **__way they could return to him?"_

_Miles bared his teeth at La Sombra and glared at him._

"_How touching, Miles," La Sombra said, in a bored tone of voice, "I see you're trying to defend your motives as well as the precious Green Eyes, but it doesn't seem that they care about you and your wife. They've made __**no **__effort to rescue you whatsoever, have they? Why do you think that is? After all, the two of you have done __**so **__much for them!"_

_He spit in Miles face and slapped him. "I gave you and your wife numerous chances to get me what I wanted. I tortured the two of you everyday, bruised you, whipped you, and scarred you for life, sometimes to the point where if I gave you one more kick, you would've been __**dead **__in an __**instant. **__But enough is enough. Torturing you has been __**quite fun,**__but the fun's gone now that the both of you are more strong willed than is healthy. I'll be clicking the gun five more times. I don't know who'll die first. Perhaps you'll go down together? Or will one of you," he looked to Miles and Stella, "Have to watch your __**true love **__die?"_

_Miles looked to Stella helplessly. This was the end. They would both die, here, in this cave, never returning to Hillwood or to see their Arnold again. He gulped, and closed his eyes, waiting for the gun to go off._

_Instead, Miles found himself falling._

**XIII**

It turned out that when Eduardo hadn't heard from us after administering the second batch of medicine to the Green Eyed People, he went to San Lorenzo and started a search party. Unfortunately, he, too, was caught in the political turmoil of the cities and imprisoned before he could go into the jungles and find us. While there, he rallied the Green Eyed People, and began searching for us. Eduardo told us that they'd looked all over San Lorenzo, in the jungles, and even went into the cities, knowing the risk, to see if we were still alive. The place where La Sombra held Stella and I was the last place Eduardo and the rest of the search party looked. It was a spur of the moment, last ditch effort, since at that point, any hope that we were still around was futile at best.

**XIV**

"_They've got to be here," Eduardo thought to himself. "I don't think they're dead."_

"_**I've had enough of the two of you."**_

_Eduardo looked up. The voice was coming from above._

"_I'm __**sick **__of waiting for the two of you to give up and surrender, of waiting for La Corazon, the very artifact that should be __**mine.**__"_

"_It's La Sombra!" Eduardo whispered to himself, "This means Miles and Stella are still alive!" He indicated to the Green Eyed People around him and came up with a plan to rescue them._

"_We'll break the ceiling down."_

**XV**

In addition to the Green Eyed People, Stella and I still find us indebted to Eduardo. He rescued us from death, and though La Sombra escaped, still swearing revenge on us, still wanting to kill us, he hasn't found us in hiding.

After our rescue, Eduardo told us that the disorder in the city only got worse, and that La Sombra was still behind it all. We'd have to wait, not just for our sakes, but also for Arnold's, for San Lorenzo to regain its stability if we were to ever make it out of Hillwood.

We've been in hiding, waiting for our chance to leave this hiding spot. I'd be back in the jungles in an instant, since at least I'd be outside, but La Sombra has been searching them in an attempt to look for us. Eduardo, however, has assured that as long as the Green Eyed People have La Corazon, that he will never find us.

When he visits, he'll update us on the conditions of San Lorenzo. Things have improved since then. La Sombra still hasn't been found, but the country and the cities are slowly rebuilding themselves. A new government has been established, and there's more stability. The first commercial flight the country has seen in _years_ landed here not too long ago – a group of students exploring the country. Eduardo's making plans to get us onto a flight back to the United States without La Sombra knowing about it. Stella and I both know that La Sombra will be after us for the rest of our lives, but I love the prospect of finally being able to leave this place, of being able to see Arnold again.

I wonder if he ever found my journal – the one I kept of my life before meeting his beautiful mother, during the first year of our marriage, curing the sleeping sickness, and having him come into our lives. I wonder if he knows how much Stella and I love him and that we miss him beyond comprehension.

I wonder if he ever found that old stationery box – the one that I found in an old pawnshop when I was nine-years-old. I bought the old stationery box, with its color fading, but with heavy parchment and an old red pen inside of it because something drew me to it, even though I didn't know exactly what. Oddly enough, during my childhood and teenage years, I would look at the box, holding it close to my eyes, searching for any unusual details on it that would help me figure out why I was so drawn to it. I always had the feeling that I'd seen the box somewhere before, but I could never figure out _where._

I wonder if Arnold has ever taken a piece of paper out of that box and written anything on it.

Stella stops rubbing my back when we both hear a loud crash around us.

"What was that?" she asks, looking upward.

"I don't know," I answer, as I stand and help her up. The roof caves in, leaving everything dark. We hear something, or someone, fall down.

Then, we hear voices.

"_Get away from me, Bucko!"_ It is the voice of a young girl. She sounds vindictive, but also like she knows how to defend herself, as Stella and I hear her punch somebody. We look at each other, and run toward her, trying to pull her away from whatever, or whoever, she's punching, but she pushes us away.

"Whoever you are, behind me, I can handle this myself!" she exclaims. "Tall Hair Boy! Get over here and help me drag this buffoon to the chains over there." We hear scurrying as a pair of footsteps treads toward the girl.

"_You brat, I ought to kill you – "_

La Sombra.

"Stella," I whisper, "I think these kids are on the student trip Eduardo was telling us about."

Before we can say anything or persuade the young girl to stop what she's doing, she punches La Sombra again. We hear the girl and the boy pushing La Sombra up against the wall, where they chain him against the wall of the cave.

Stella and I walk toward the girl and the boy with only their voices to guide us.

"Excuse us – "

Bright, green light flashes around us everywhere, blinding us all for a moment. We cannot see anything but the bright light. Just then, it flashes, and the cave has light within it again.

When Stella and I come to, we shake our heads and survey our surroundings. First, we see La Sombra, knocked up, his face bruised, bloody, and battered, chained up against the wall. Next, our eyes turn to a young girl with blonde pigtails and a distinctive unibrow. A look of shock is upon her face as she stares at Stella and I. She looks like her father, Bob Pataki, the beeper salesman back in Hillwood. Next to him is a boy with thick, raven hair reaching toward the sky and black skin. He's helping a young boy with messy, spiky blonde hair cover something up.

La Corazon.

"I thought we weren't supposed to look at that," he whispers huskily to the boy.

"I know," his friend replies nervously, looking downward, "It was an accident!" He looks up and sighs. "This was supposed to lead me to them…"

I feel my breath lodge in my throat. Blonde, spiky hair. Large, green eyes. His mother's nose. That football head.

His name comes out of my mouth before I can even think about what I'm doing.

"Arnold!"

He finishes wrapping La Corazon, stands up, holding it, and looks at Stella and I. His green eyes are inquisitive as he continues surveying us.

"Mom? Dad?"

**XVI**

"Home at last," I say aloud, smiling to myself. Stella's arms are wrapped around me, and I hold Arnold close as we look up at the boardinghouse where I spent my childhood. It still looks exactly the same.

"Do you sleep in the room with the sky roof, Arnold?" I ask, hugging him.

"Yeah," Arnold replies, both his smile and his eyes radiant with happiness, "It's so cool looking up at it."

"I liked doing that when I was your age," I smile, ruffling his hair. "Are all the same boarders still there – Ernie, Oscar and Susie, Mr. Hyunh?"

"Yeah, they're all still here," Arnold answers, looking up at his mother and I. He looks at us, and both his eyes and his mouth are smiling. "I'm really glad the two of you are back!" he says happily, tears of joy streaming down his face, embracing the two of us tightly. For a long time, he refuses to let go of us, but I'm not complaining. I turn to Stella, and she smiles back at me through her tears. Her smile is radiant. I have a feeling that when Arnold hugs me, that they will last for a long time. When he finally releases Stella and I, he looks up at us and asks, smiling, "Can we go inside now and see everyone?"

"Of course, Arnold," Stella answers, holding our son close to her, giving him a kiss on the forehead, "Let's go in now."

Arnold leads the way into the kitchen way as Stella and I follow behind with the luggage. When we walk inside, I smile, because the boardinghouse hasn't changed at all since Stella and I left.

"Tex, is that you? Did you bring home any natives from your trip into the jungle? I hope they're not cannibals – I hear they find cowboys to be particularly appetizing!"

"_Mom?"_I ask, laughing. "Is that you?"

She turns and stops what she's doing. She looks exactly the same.

"Miles! Stella!" she exclaims happily, as tears of joy fall down her cheeks. She holds the two of us close to her and says, _"You're here. You're home at last."_ Still holding us close to her, she turns to Arnold, who's sitting at the kitchen table, smiling at our reunion, and says, "Go get your grandfather, Tex."

Arnold nods, gets up from his place at the table, and runs down to the basement.

"Have a seat," she tells us, "You have so much to tell me! How did you get – "

My attention turns to where Arnold stands in the doorway with my father. He looks at Stella and I in shock.

"Miles – " he breathes slowly, in shock. "You're – you're…"

I get up from my place at the kitchen table and hug my father close to me. "I'm here, Dad," I tell him, my voice breaking. "I'm home."

"_You came home,"_ Dad whispers in my ear, _"You came home."_

When the two of us separate, Stella stands up and hugs my dad. I turn to Mom, and to my beloved son, Arnold, and we approach Dad and Stella, and join in the hug.

I am home, and I know that the dreams of bloodshed will no longer haunt me.

I smile as the group hug seems to last an eternity, but I don't care.

I feel as though I've fulfilled a promise I made long ago.

I came home.


End file.
